


voy prendido fuego

by ibarbourou



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confessions, Corruption, Death penalty, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forgiveness, Harassment, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Judicial System, Justice, Lawyers, M/M, Police corruption, Promiscuity, Prostitution, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Stalking, fuck buddies, obstruction of justice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21775855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibarbourou/pseuds/ibarbourou
Summary: “The system fails people all the time, but I believe in justice, Leandro…” Edinson’s eyes scan Leandro’s face who looks back at him with an expression as if he’s deciding whether he truly believes him. So far, his eyebrows are low set in a pensive furrow, and he has not uncrossed his arms. “It’s just that, sometimes…it’s those who wear the shield of the law that demean the law andeverythingjustice stands for.”orA retelling ofDeux hommes dans la ville(Two men in town, 1973), from the defense lawyer's perspective.Updates:-As of 9 January 2021, I've heavily edited and have re-written this fic, adding over 7K words to the narrative.
Relationships: David Luiz/Edinson Cavani, Diego Forlán/Edinson Cavani, Edinson Cavani & Ricardo "Kaká" Izecson dos Santos Leite, Martín Cáceres & Edinson Cavani, Martín Cáceres/Edinson Cavani
Comments: 104
Kudos: 13
Collections: The New Football Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunasenzanotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/gifts).

> This work is inspired from a prompt posted on the new football kink meme:
> 
> _"Basically what I want is an AU based on the old French movie [Deux hommes dans la Ville, 1973], with Cavani being a lawyer defending someone being sentenced to death, and failing. Because I think this would go so well with him, and I can imagine the emotional angst. Although if you'd reverse it and make someone else the lawyer, I wouldn't be mad either and I think it would work well."_
> 
> I promised that if I ever wrote an AU, I would gift it to the talented Maria Luna, a fandom friend whom I cherish and appreciate for all the work she does to keep this fandom alive.
> 
> You have been warned. If you've seen the film, you'll know then that this fic isn't a happy one and it discusses some themes that can be deeply triggering. Read the tags. Though not a requirement, I do encourage you to read the plot synopsis for Deux hommes dans la Ville (Two men in town, 1973) just to get a sense of what to expect. If this is not your cup of tea, then don't read this fic.
> 
> The story takes place in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I've had to make certain adaptations to write this fic. For example, Argentina got rid of the death penalty in 2009. So if you see that some things are off, it's a conscientious adaptation to match the narrative of the original French film directed by José Giovanni.
> 
> Despite this being a story with a tragic ending, I do want to provide some kind of comfort to alleviate our protagonist's pain. I think in tragedies, it's important to highlight no matter what one goes through, or how long the stretch of darkness might go on--the sun always comes out.
> 
> So dear reader, if you decide to read this, I hope you enjoy this work and my attempt at my retelling of _Deux hommes dans la ville_ to fill this prompt. A lot of love, thought, research and revisions has gone into this. Kudos and your thoughts are appreciated.

“So will you accept the case?”

There was a slight inflection of urgency in Oscar Tabárez’s inquiry. Calm, but pressing.

Edinson pulls in his lips. Without raising his eyes, he gives Dr. Tabárez a non-committal gesture with the slight raise of his hand while he scans the summary file.

It was a high-profile case—involving the murder of a federal officer, and Assistant District Attorney Luis Suárez, who would be leading the prosecution, was pressing for the maximum punishment. The death penalty.

There’s so much to process. It has been well over a year since Edinson had a major case like this, and he needed more than just a couple of minutes before he could determine whether he could handle the stress and the workload that naturally comes with cases like these. Dr. Tabárez, being a retired parole officer and currently a devoted social worker in the penitentiary of Ezeiza was able to gather copies of relevant documentation to supplement the summary file.

Edinson blinks rapidly and decides to flip back to the first page. He looks over the xerox copy of the arrest record of Leandro Paredes a little more carefully.

_Paredes, Leandro Daniel_.

Born the 29th of June, 1994, in the San Justo _barrio_, province of Buenos Aires.

His first arrest was on the 26th of June, 2009. _At age 15_.

For the crime of assisting in a bank robbery, he was charged, found guilty and served 9 years out of a 12-year prison sentence.

_Okay, so he’s got a prior record. Not good_. Edinson thinks to himself. Nevertheless, he continues reading.

Paredes was a model inmate and was granted parole the 8th of July, 2018.

His second arrest was on March 12th, 2019, at age 23.

Paredes turned himself in and confessed to the murder of Chief Inspector Maximiliano Gastón López.

Edinson suppresses the urge to sigh with disapproval. Something inside him twitches like a warning. A premonition that this case was unsalvageable. There’s a part of him that wants to fold the manila folder shut and slide it across his table back to Dr. Tabárez. There’s nothing stopping him from doing so. Except he can’t.

Edinson flips to the next page, skimming the remainder of his file, mining for important bits of information to get a clearer picture.

_There has to be more. Please. Give me something to work with_. He prays quietly.

On parole, Leandro Paredes managed to keep stable employment as an electrician. A trade he learned while serving his prison sentence. His employer, Alejandro Sabella, wrote a glowing letter to attest to his character:

“_Leandro was punctual, focused and efficient_,” reads one of the first lines. “_He put in honest work and was reliable_,” another segment reads before Sabella made any comments with regards to Leandro’s agreeability: “_He was also well regarded by his peers_.”

As if guided by some strange hunch, Edinson flips back to the first page of Leandro’s file. Back to the arrest record. His eyes dart to the top of the file to scan the mugshot. The first thing that leaps out to him is the frozen look of bewilderment on Leandro’s face. His eyes pierced into the threat of oblivion ahead of him. His pinpoint pupils against the backdrop of a shade of blue so pale, one would think whatever dread he was experiencing at that moment chased the color away. Edinson notes Leandro’s raised eyebrows. The mouth, slightly agape. The swell on his lower lip probably kept him from comfortably keeping his mouth shut. He notes the minor gash on his left cheek. These minor injuries visible in the gritty mugshot are the only tell-tale marks of his engagement in the arduous struggle to subdue his victim, Chief Inspector López.

Edinson shakes his head. How foolish of him to think he could judge whether Leandro was kind or agreeable from a mugshot alone. Leandro looked _afraid_—and people are rarely good or on their best behavior when they are afraid. Fear, after all, has a way of bringing out everyone’s character defects.

Without an afterthought, Edinson flips further back where he left off into Paredes’ file and turns to the next document—the summary of the autopsy report. Officer López died asphyxiated and suffered traumatic brain injuries from repetitive blows to the head. He thinks for a moment of how it must have taken a great deal of strength, driven by a white-hot rage to kill a person with no other weapons but one’s hands. This act alone blotches whatever words Sabella used to describe Leandro’s virtues. These autopsy report and Sabella’s letter in Leandro’s defense describe actions committed by what could be two different people. Except they’re not. Leandro, the dutiful worker liked and respected by his boss and peers had committed a brutal murder.

Edinson exhales sharply from his nose, and turns over to the next file, only to find there is an eyewitness account. Leandro’s cousin, Paulo Bruno Exequiel Dybala. An employee at Banco de la Nación Argentina. He doesn’t think about how having a family member as an eyewitness could potentially complicate matters even more. Paulo’s middle name unlocks a memory.

“Exequiel.” Edinson whispers the name.

“What’s that?” Dr. Tabárez asks, an expectant tone in his voice.

“No—nothing.” Edinson responds briefly lifting his eyes to meet his gaze. “Just thinking out loud.”

Paulo had left a detailed written account of what he had witnessed in Dr. Tabárez’ possession for him to include in the summary file since the original police report was in ADA Suárez’s possession and couldn't be accessed. Edinson’s eyes fixate on the idiosyncratic loops of Paulo’s penmanship while his attention drifts briefly to a fairly recent conversation between him and his boyfriend, Diego:

☼

  
_Two weeks earlier_

It was a rare evening they were both home for dinner. By the way the conversation was going, Edinson saw the opportunity to introduce the idea of adopting children, _if they ever got married_. The more subtle hints he had been dropping for several months now, such as referencing childhood friends that recently got engaged, were not working. He and Diego had been together for four years and they have been living together for about a year now. How much more time did Diego need to decide he was ready to deepen his commitment to him?

Diego doesn’t pick up the hint. Instead, he redirects the conversation and complains on how no one gives children normal names anymore. Diego decides to poke fun of his unusual name, _Edinson_, as a prime example of what he considered a nonsense name. The jab about him being brought up by impressionable parents from the countryside makes him touchy.

“I don’t understand this horrible trend of giving kids English names like your parents did to make them look like they have culture.” Diego speaks matter-of-factly before sweeping in a bite.

“Look—my father did it on purpose. He wanted all of us to stand out.” Edinson reaches for his glass of water, “and by the way—my name’s not English.”

Diego looks up from his plate. “Well, I knew about the spelling error on your name your parents were too lazy to correct,” he pauses, “but, I could have sworn _Edison_ is an English name. Weren’t you all given English names? Your half-brother’s name is Walter. Your older brother is Christian—”

“Aside from the ‘_n_’ that shouldn’t have been there—my name’s _Biblical_,” Edinson snaps, “It means Son of Eden.”

“Really? Is that where it came from?” Diego stabs the air with his fork, indicating he wants to make a point while chewing his food. “And what would you know about the Bible aside from the fact that it’s God’s word and they use it to swear someone in? Did they make you read the scriptures while you were in prison?”

Diego continues eating in silence, while Edinson takes a sip of his water. A slow grin spread across his face and he snorts. He decides he cares more about keeping the peace and holds back what he really wants to say to Diego. If no one had taught Diego to reel in his condescending attitude by now, he certainly was not going to learn it now.

“If I could name my kid, I’d give him a Biblical name,” Edinson responds calmly, “_Exequiel_—he whom God has made strong.”

Edinson doesn’t excuse himself as he picks up his plate and makes his way to the kitchen. Diego’s comments were sometimes said with an air of superiority that didn’t always sit well with him. It took some time, but he learned to deflect or let these comments roll off with ease as his way of trying to minimize negative interactions. Sure, they came from different backgrounds. Yes, they were brought up differently—but that didn’t make Diego better than him. Some days, however, Edinson was more sensitive to these biting comments. Today, for a reason Edinson doesn’t understand, he was feeling more sensitive than usual.

Maybe it was the fact that he had a difficult day.

He spent a solid hour counseling one of his clients affirming that despite their best efforts in court, he was still looking to do a considerable amount of time in Ezeiza prison. Even though Edinson managed to negotiate shaving off a couple of years from a 14-year sentence, given that it was his client’s first offence and he pled guilty from the start—his client was still looking to do at least a decade in one of Buenos Aires’ most notorious prison complexes. What can you say to a young man to accept that the best years of his life would be spent deprived of love, affection, comfort and freedom? Edinson didn’t expect his client to break down crying. The crushing weight of all his remorse gushed right out of him. He had a family to support. He and his girlfriend were expecting another child. How would they get by without him? It was one of those situations where he could offer nothing else to his client but listen.

Edinson couldn’t talk to Diego about his work or his clients within what he could legally disclose because he just wouldn’t _understand_. Diego’s polite attempts to ask about his day could only be answered in brief, one-word answers:

“Good.”

“Busy.”

Or “Hard.” And he could never really elaborate further.

The thing with Diego was that his upbringing skewed his perspective on many things. He took to his father—who raised him with the misguided notion that people were in control of their destinies. Those who were poor, befell to misfortunes, or developed addictions, turned to crime or developed serious illnesses were fundamentally weak in body, mind and character. And so, Diego naturally called out anyone or anything that was associated with weakness or frailty. Often with an air of condescension or a disparaging tone.

Edinson wants to believe that Diego wouldn’t do or say things with any real intent to hurt anyone. Most days, he could make himself believe it. But tonight, Diego’s last comments feel too much like a personal dig. _They hurt_.

Diego knew their father left them and didn’t try to reconnect with them until they were older. He also knew about how his mother worked her hands raw. Was barely home to look after them properly. They were a humble family. They did the best they could with what life gave them. To insinuate that his parents had no culture—or better yet—to criticize their smallest gestures that indicated that they aspired for better—such as giving them all idiosyncratic names to remind them all that they were born to stand out and be different? It feels a little more than just a careless, offhand comment.

But that’s not the worst thing Diego had said to him. He had thoughtlessly brought up the time he had gone to prison. Literally pressing down on a bruise from his past that hadn’t fully healed.

Tonight, it’s his turn to do the dishes while Diego takes out the trash. He’s scrubbing the pots down when he feels Diego’s arms encircling his midsection him from behind.

“Forgive me—I shouldn’t have said that.” Diego speaks, resting his chin over Edinson’s shoulder.

“Sure,” Edinson blinks as he runs the back of his hand under his nose, “of course.”

Diego plants a soft kiss on his neck and tightens his grip around him and Edinson shuts his eyes, casually bringing his hand over Diego’s hand, tapping on it gently. A non-verbal plea to release him from his embrace. Diego obliges and Edinson turns to flash him a smile. It’s forced. He does it more to get Diego to drop whatever it was that he wanted to say. He just wants to pretend nothing was ever said.

He’s not in the mood to discuss his family. He’s especially not up to discussing the one time he went to prison for 6 months just for being a stupid boy. A stupid boy whose only crime was being at the wrong place. At the wrong time. And trusting a crooked cop.

☼

The familiar buzz of incoming texts brings Edinson back to the present. He sets down the summary file for Leandro Paredes he had been examining and discreetly pulls his phone out to steal a glance of the screen. They’re from Diego.

“Edi—I am asking you to strongly consider taking this case. _As a favor to me_.” Dr. Tabárez leans in.

Edinson closes the file and looks up to give Dr. Tabárez his full attention.

“I’ve worked in the criminal justice system for years to know it is a merciless killing machine,” Dr. Tabárez extends his hand, “You are the best chance this kid’s got, so will you please consider taking it?”

Edinson reaches across the table to grasp Dr. Tabárez’s outstretched hand and gives it a firm handshake.

“Yes, I’ll take it.” He speaks with a forward nod. “I’ll put in the request to review what the prosecution has put together by the end of today.”

Dr. Tabárez brings his other hand to clasp Edinson’s hand, his eyes narrow as a small smile of gratitude spreads across his face.

“I’ve known Leandro and his family for _years_, and these last turns of events are nothing short of a tragedy. I had always hoped he would be a successful case, just like what you became after you recovered your freedom.”

Edinson lowers his eyes and Dr. Tabárez releases his hand.

“If there is anything I can do to assist—just say the word.” Edinson rises from his chair to see Dr. Tabárez out of his office. They embrace as their closing greeting and Dr. Tabárez taps the side of his face gently as a gesture of affection before he turns to leave.

Edinson walks back towards his desk, pausing for a few moments to look outside his window. The view looks like a tourist post card with the sun shining brightly overhead amidst the bustle of the city. He exhales sharply and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. Amidst other notifications, he had two texts from Diego.

_Edi, my love, you are the first person _

_I tell this to._

_I passed the last of my board _

_exams._

Edinson brings his hand over his mouth, re-reading the texts in joyful disbelief. He quickly taps a response.

_ Diego, I’m speechless!_

_ Congratulations!_

_ I just got out of a meeting. Are you _

_ free to talk?_

A speech bubble comes onto the screen.

_Now’s not a good time._

_I’m out celebrating. With colleagues._

_What I want to know, is will you _

_be home early? _

_I’d like to do something special._

Edinson pulls his lips in. He’s got a full day with the added fact he now has to call ADA Suárez’s secretary to set up a meeting with him regarding the Paredes case. He’s also got to review the payroll before signing off on each of his employees’ checks. He hesitates before responding.

_ I have a few things I need to do_

_ that I can’t put off._

_ But for you my love, I will try_

_ to get home as early as I can._

☼

That night isn't like most nights.

Edinson arrives home, _tired_—expecting the evening to consist of a quiet dinner between them and a couple of glasses of wine to celebrate the occasion. He sets down his briefcase and makes his way to the bedroom, calling out to Diego to make his presence known. He sits at the edge of their bed, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, absentmindendly removing his tie when Diego walks in. It takes him aback when Diego lunges forward, kissing him hard, slipping the palm of his hand between his legs. Edinson shuts his eyes, focusing on the warm sensation stirring inside him before breaks the kiss to gasp. Diego had already been drinking, from the residual taste of a dry red wine on his tongue.

“What do you say? Tomorrow’s Saturday…dinner can wait.” Diego licks his lips before he leans forward to press his mouth against Edinson’s, “It’s you I want.” He whispers over his lips—the corner of his lips tilting into a coy grin, palming over Edinson’s arousal.

It was surprising to hear Diego suggest they have sex. It’s something they haven’t had in _weeks_, making it feel like this urge came so out of the blue. But Edinson doesn’t question it or fight it anymore. He kisses Diego back, leaning into his provocative touches. He wants it too.

He lets Diego fuck him the way he likes it. Wrists bound together behind his back. Head, shoulders and upper torso pressed down hard on the mattress. Back arching almost unnaturally. Backside in the air for Diego to use. He shuts his eyes tightly and suppresses his urge to cry out when Diego lets the palm of his hand come down hard against his ass while he drills into him. It makes all of him tense up, squeezing around Diego’s cock. Amidst the euphoria and lightheadedness, Edinson hears Diego let out a groan as if someone had punched him in the gut. He realizes how he’d do almost anything to hear Diego’s sounds of pleasure.

Tonight was about making Diego feel good. Though truth be told, it was rare for his pleasure to come first before his.

Diego comes inside him and frees up Edinson’s hands shortly after. He watches as Edinson shifts onto his back, shutting his eyes while touching himself. He starts with slow strokes focusing on his pleasure as it gradually increases against the burning, aching sensation of having been fucked hard. Diego runs a hand through Edinson’s hair, brushing it to the side to get a better look of his face while he pleasures himself. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part as his orgasm builds, breathing speeding up and becoming unsteady. He gasps when he finishes, hot pearls of come seeping down his shaft and over his hand, slowly tugging on his foreskin.

Diego presses a kiss over Edinson’s head, damp from working up a faint sweat.

“I may have told you this…but I love the face you make when you come,” Diego whispers, “It’s so hot.”

Edinson smiles weakly and tilts his face to kiss Diego. It’s a faint brush of lips, soft and languid.

For a while, they doze off to recover—their faces still buzzing from the heat, the rush of blood and endorphins. Edinson shifts closer towards Diego, who pulls him into relaxed embrace. He runs his fingers over Diego’s chest—his skin is warm and golden in their dimly lit room. Edinson motions to say something along the lines of them getting cleaned up, but Diego speaks first—breaking the silence.

“Edi…do me a favor and pass me your glass of water.”

Edinson lazily sits up and leans towards his night table only to realize he never brought in a glass of water with him to the bedroom. What he did find instead, was a small black box. An item he didn’t remember setting down there to begin with.

“What’s this?” he asks, though he has a sense of what’s about to follow. The way it comes out, barely able to contain any trace of anticipation, makes Diego smile. He gestures to Edinson to open it, which he does—revealing a pair of matching platinum rings.

Edinson is speechless, but a grin slowly spreads across his face, and it seemingly illuminates their dimly lit bedroom. The feeling continues to expand over his chest, and it's just too much for him to handle. He sets the rings down and turns to meet Diego’s eyes. They look at each other and Edinson swears he feels lovesick all over again. He doesn’t resist Diego’s prompt for him to lie back down on the mattress while he repositions himself against him.

“It’s true. I just can’t imagine wanting to spend my life with anyone else…but you.” Diego speaks in a low whisper, positioning his hands to part Edinson’s legs open to ease himself between them. He smiles when Edinson wraps his arms around the bend of his neck while pulling himself up slightly to kiss him. They kiss slowly between heavy breaths and sighs. Diego’s cock is hard again, the blunt tip smearing against his skin, awakening Edinson’s arousal once more.

“Let’s do it again.” Diego whispers, “except this time, the focus on you.”

Edinson is speechless, but his smile says it all. He willingly spreads himself again for Diego’s full invasion, what Diego takes as permission to introduce himself into him. He pushes just the head into his opening, making him wince—a teaser of what would follow after feeding himself into him completely.

“I love you.” Edi manages to gasp.

There’s something about the sight and feel of Edinson beneath him this second time that’s so deliciously submissive in a way that’s _different_ from when he lets Diego tie him up. Without any physical restraints, Edinson is open, unguarded. Offering all of himself, and not holding back. Diego lowers his eyes, pushing more of himself inside and Edi reflexively lets out a sharp cry, his mouth wide, eyelids shuttering open. His grip around Diego's shoulders tightens and in turn, Diego extends a hand to caresses one of Edinson's thighs reassuringly. Yes, he’s all stretched out from round one, but the tension Diego feels in the clench of Edi’s body reminds him that he’s sore. He’s taking it well, but he still has to be gentle.

He tries to distract Edinson from the pain, pressing his lips firmly against his mouth, inevitably absorbing another one of his pained sounds as he fucks into him in one long, slow unbroken motion. Edinson squirms beneath him, trying to angle himself in a way that’s more comfortable.

“I love you too.” Diego responds in a low voice.

Diego sucks in a breath, slowly pulling himself out before pressing back into him. Edinson winces at the sensation of being breached for the first few thrusts. It doesn’t take long for him to loosen up and ease into the sex. Diego knew his body well. Knew how to fuck him from the right angles to press down on his pleasure centers and obsessively graze over his sensitive nerve endings deep inside him. He knew the strokes and touches Edinson loved which would make him shake and mumble a stream of incoherent curses.

Diego focuses on the sensation of Edi’s body stretching around him. The feel of him is so hot and so tight, Diego intensifies his grip on Edinson’s midsection to relieve his own tension.

“God…the way you take me…” Diego whispers.

They’ve only been at it for a few beats when Edinson brings his head back, sucking in a breath of air before exhaling “_Fuck_—that feels good.” His hips buck upwards to meet Diego's thrusts almost involuntarily, squeezing his eyes shut, "Don't stop—please don't stop."

Diego, leans forward and glides a warm hand over his chest, scalding to the touch, and gently tugs on one of his taut nipples. "I don't intend to." he sighs. Edinson's cock is trapped between their stomachs, and the added friction while the fullness of Diego inside him presses down on his pleasure center, and he moans loudly. It's all he can do at this point. Moan and whimper appreciatively for all the things Diego does to him that make his made his face tingle and his vision blur with a stream of stars.

Maybe Edinson has been primed from their first session that night, or maybe he’s extra sensitive. He comes first. His load shoots almost unannounced, landing on his and Diego’s stomachs. The sensation of his orgasm making his channel quiver almost triggers Diego to unload but he catches himself. He’d make this round last. Sex between them now was a rarity. Especially with their conflicting work schedules.

“I’ve missed this.” Diego speaks between pants. “I’ve missed us.”

Edinson nods as he lets Diego raise his arms overhead, trapping his wrists. Diego’s mouth crashes over his while maintaining the grinding, sinusoidal rhythm of his hips, picking up the pace. Diego feels his insides quake when he muffles one of Edi’s sighs with his mouth. They fuck quietly for a few beats. It’s just them and clapping sounds of damp skin against skin and the bed creaking beneath them.

“So will you marry me?” Diego asks as he lets go of Edi’s wrists. He positions both hands on his waist to stabilize Edi’s body, bouncing to the rhythm set by Diego’s hips.

“Yes…” Edi smiles back at him. “Yes...a hundred times over,” he affirms between pants.

It’s a response that sends Diego over the edge. He doesn’t hold back and pushes himself as far into Edinson as he can, locking into place. Edi looks back at him, eyes wide open, mouthing—‘oh—_fuck’_—at the sensation of Diego’s cock pulsing inside him, filling him with his second load.

“You pretty, dirty thing.” Diego exhales before pulling out. His eyes shift to catch the moment Edinson lowers his hand to wipe the first pearls of come that start to leak out of him.

Edinson catches Diego looking at him and for a brief moment, their eyes meet.

Getting filled with come and then the sensation of it seeping out of him was something that used to feel so weird. That’s until he realizes the whole thing’s actually kind of hot. Maybe it’s because he’s holding something from Diego inside him. A part of Diego’s is a part of him now. Even if it is only for a few moments. After they’ve agreed to only sleep with each other exclusively, they’ve moved on to having sex without condoms. There was nothing that cemented their intimacy like this. Diego runs the palm of his hand over Edinson’s come-stained stomach, and he hesitates whether he should say something.

“You’re so hot to me right now—I swear.” Diego mutters hurriedly, lowering his eyes. Edinson just returns a grin of satisfaction.

They lie beside each other, breathing easy for a couple of minutes. Then Edinson runs a hand through Diego’s tousled waves. “Let’s shower?”

“No round three for you?” Diego teases.

Edi snorts. “I don’t know about you—but I have to rise early…” He hesitates. He’s about to tell Diego that he didn’t finish reviewing a batch of files and had to start preparing for his newest case. But he doesn’t. “...for work.”

There's a long pause that lingers between them for a moment. Diego says nothing. He lightly grazes the back on his hand against the side of Edi's face, almost absentmindedly.

“Come on—let’s get cleaned up.” Edinson grasps Diego’s hand, but Diego offers a suggestive tug to stay.

“Tomorrow’s _Saturday_.” Diego responds. "I just asked you to marry me. I figured you'd want to be more appreciative and celebrate the occasion."

Edinson throws him a dark look that makes Diego laugh.

“What?” Diego continues laughing, though his eyes are pleading for him to stay. “If we’re to be married, it’s your marital duty to please me.”

Edinson unclasps Diego’s hand and brings it over his face.

“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs before turning over onto his stomach.

Diego doesn’t wait for Edinson to respond and straddles him from behind, running his palms over the expanse of his back.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Diego quips, “What could possibly be so important for you to go to work early? _On a Saturday?_”

Edinson hums into his pillow, trying to focus on the wonderful sensation of Diego’s hands pressing against the curve of his spine instead. He's already forgiven Diego's remarks. He figures the touchiness is part of the let-down of leaving the pleasure haven he and Diego create every time they have sex. He knows they could recover and aim to make love one more time. But duty calls.

_A man’s life depends on it_. He answers Diego’s question in his head.

He doesn’t want to take the focus away from the fact that things were starting to look up for them. They had just gotten engaged. Diego took the last of his examinations and would soon practice medicine after nearly nine years of training. They had just spent two hours of quality time together, bonding over sex. Something that rarely happened.

Edinson stirs, motioning as if he wanted to get up. Diego slides off and positions himself at the edge of the bed, letting his hand fall down hard against Edinson’s behind, making him flinch.

“So what is it then?” Diego asks.

Edinson sighs as he pushes himself up on all fours. The come Diego had fucked into him still continues to seep out in a slow trickle down along the inside of his thighs. A sight that turns Diego on. He doesn’t control his impulse, and he spreads Edi’s backside with his hand. His eyes go over the mess he’s made of him and swears he could fuck him right there on the spot. He’d wrap his arms around tightly over his midsection, leaving Edinson no option but to take it.

The look of misery Edinson gives him as he orients his body to sit beside him says it all. It’s clear to Diego that he’s still coming down from the high of their last romp.

“I have to rise early,” he reminds Diego, “You’ll hate me for this, but I picked up a case. A favor for an old friend.”

Diego smiles a grin of defeat and nods. “Whatever happened to focusing on us more?”

“Don’t—” Edinson interjects but Diego speaks over him,

“Edi, we _barely_ have time like this for each other.”

“It’s not like I don’t try, Diego. I come home having to spend many nights alone, because you’re working overnight at the hospital,” he shrugs, “It is what it is…and I don’t make you feel bad about it.”

Diego lets out an unsatisfied sigh.

“In the time we have spent arguing, we could have done it again.”

Edinson shuts his eyes—an effort to reel in his anger. He doesn't understand where this sudden surge of attention is coming from. For over a month, they went on barely even speaking to each other or touching each other. Is this Diego's attempt to compensate for weeks of neglect? How was it that Diego, as brilliant as he is, could also be so shortsighted? There was more to cultivating intimacy than just having sex.

He finally opens his mouth,

“Is this about us? Or about sex for you?” it comes out with a slight air of exasperation, and he hates himself for letting his anger get the best of him.

“Both,” Diego responds.

Edinson hangs his head.

It’s a conversation they keep coming back to.

Shortly after they moved in together, they both became more distant. Quality time and conversation between them became more rarefied. Overt time, the frequency of how often they’d have sex lessened, and it wasn’t necessarily due to a mismatch between their sex drives, or a sudden disinterest in sex. It just wasn’t enough for Edi to spread his legs and let Diego have his way with him when he was a demanding lover. Engaging and pleasing Diego required a certain level of energy and certain mindset. He couldn’t provide Diego consistently with what he wanted. This eventually led to arguments.

Six months ago, Diego accused Edinson of being unfaithful and seeing other people. They went through a month where their relationship was so strained, Edinson feared they were on the verge of breaking up. He didn’t know what to do to show Diego how deeply he loved him. For the first time, since they had been together, Diego withheld his affection. They lived like strangers, working late and barely exchanging words. Diego started coming around only in the last couple of months—as if remembering that they were still together. Slowly, they started to match up nights where they could eat together or watch football together on Sundays. They’d kiss and grope and roll in bed, very rarely ending up in an intimate embrace. Edinson wanted to think they were just adjusting to a new normal. Perhaps moving in together had scared Diego. Only two other scenarios would ensue at this stage in their relationship: they'd commit to each other, or they'd break up.

Diego gets up and walks to Edinson’s nightstand, to retrieve the rings. He inspects them under the lamplight.

“I had these engraved with our names on the inside.” Diego slides his engagement band on his ring finger while he approaches Edinson, still sitting on the edge of the bed. He gestures for Edinson’s hand.

“This one is yours—it’s got my name on it so you can carry me wherever you go.” Diego inserts the ring as Edinson looks on. He presses both hands against Edinson’s face, tilting it back to kiss him. It starts with the familiar lock of lips and the taste of each other before it becomes something else. Like more about them trying to chase the thrill of their first night together, or a grasp at trying to make the feeling last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -28 December 2020: Chapter 1 has been updated. I expanded this chapter adding 1,593 words without changing the plot.


	2. Chapter 2

“¿DNI?”

Edinson has his identifying documents out before the prison guard even asks for them. He scribbles his perfunctory signature on the visitor’s log and the waivers laid out in front of him.

He glances at his watch to look at the time and follows the prison guard to an empty room reserved for attorney-client visits.

“For safety purposes, this room is monitored.” The guard gestures to Edinson as he sets down his briefcase, “If you need assistance or have concluded your meeting, just tap on the glass to signal to an officer.”

“Thank you.” Edinson responds.

He takes a seat and runs a hand through his hair. Another guard walks in and sets down a pitcher of water and two glasses onto the table.

“Thanks.” Edinson mumbles wistfully while he pulls out a couple of files and his legal pad. He rests his elbows on the table and brings his hands to his face, gently rubbing his tired eyes.

The day had not started well.

☼

_Earlier that morning_

Diego slowly pours hot water over the _yerba-_filled gourd. He lets it set, waiting for the leaves to absorb as much water.

“Diego, do you mind calling my phone?” Edinson calls out to Diego from across the kitchen, “I’m expecting a call back and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

He waits for Edinson to sit at the table with the toast before he hands him over his phone. Edinson furrows his brow and looks up in disbelief.

Diego shrugs. “You had a missed call from Luis Suárez. He was your ex—isn’t that right?”

“There’s nothing between us,” Edinson assures Diego, “Whatever communication we have now, it’s _just_ business.”

Diego reaches for the gourd and pours hot water from their thermos, filling it to the brim and passes it to Edinson.

“And what business is that?” Diego presses further.

Edinson sips on his mate.

“Not yours.” He quips with a soft grin.

“I see.” Diego nods, smiling a tight smile before he reaches across the table grasping Edinson’s upper arm, digging his fingernails into him.

Edi winces, eyes widening with surprise, “_Fuck_, Diego—what’s gotten into you?”

“What business do you have talking to him?” Diego repeats himself.

Edinson shakes off Diego’s grip, snapping back his arm in defiance, which only sets off Diego’s anger. He makes a menacing gesture as if positioning himself to slap Edi, and he flinches, averting his gaze.

“You owe me an explanation.” Diego’s nostrils flare out, eyes widening with anger. He tilts Edi’s chin toward him, forcing him to look at him. Edi blinks rapidly and swallows hard before he responds.

“Luis is leading the prosecution of my client,” Edinson licks his lips, “It was just by chance that we are working on the same case…just different sides.”

Diego lets go of his chin and pushes him aside. “You need to understand that someone like you—someone with _your _history—doesn’t go from being a total whore to a complete angel overnight.”

“So what you’re saying is that you still don’t trust me.” Edinson brushes a lock of hair out of his face before he turns to look at Diego squarely. “Then why ask me to let you fuck me without a condom? You really think I’m still picking up dates? Why would I need to? _And on what time?_” He shakes his head and lets out an exasperated sigh, “Why ask me to marry you? Why ask me—if you can’t trust me? Tell me…what will it take for me to prove myself to you?”

Edinson lowers his eyes, bringing the _bombilla_ to his lips and takes a couple of sips in succession. He flits his tongue over his lower lip and addresses Diego once more.

“Diego, I love you…” Edinson sucks in a quick breath as he feels his chest tighten, “and I would never do anything to betray what we both have fought for years…to have what we have now.”

Edinson passes the empty gourd to Diego, which he refills for himself. An uncomfortable silence sets in. For a while it’s just Diego pouring a round of _mates_ for the two of them.

“So Luis is prosecuting your client?” Diego breaks the silence, passing the gourd to Edi. “What exactly did your client do?”

“I can’t really discuss much at this stage, but what I can share…is that the charges are _serious_, my client has confessed to the crimes and Luis is pressing for capital punishment.”

“And you’re going to defend this guilty low-life to bend justice in their favor?” Diego rolls his shoulders back nonchalantly and reclines on his chair. “I’m curious to know what creative lies you’ll come up with to keep your client off death row.”

Edinson shuts his eyes and bites down on his lower lip in annoyance. “Lies? _Really?,_” Edinson snorts, “Is that what you think my defense consists of?” He runs his hand over his hair to pull back a few locks that had fallen out of place and motions to get up, but Diego leans forward and extends his hand over Edinson’s forearm against the table.

“Edi, my love, I know how due process of law works and that everyone is entitled to a fair trial, but—”

Edinson cuts Diego off. “No. No you don’t…” he shakes his head, “I want to make it very clear to you—I do not lie. And my clients are _not_ low-lives.” His eyes flare up, “They have _rights_, and my job…” Edinson’s voice breaks when Diego’s hand massages his forearm, slowly making his way from his forearm to the area he had grasped earlier. He feels the sting of angry tears welling and he bites the inside of his lip as his final effort to hold them back. “…my _job,_Diego…is to make sure that when the weight of the law falls on them…that it is just and fair.”

Diego sees that Edinson continues to seethe in silence, not acknowledging his touch. Out of mild concern, he gets up and walks around the table to where Edinson is seated and places his hand over his shoulder, which he pushes away. 

“What’s with you today? All of a sudden I can’t express an opinion?” Diego raises his voice.

Edinson lowers his head, running both hands over his neck before he slams his fists on the table.

“I don’t have the time to talk this over now, Diego.” Edinson pushes his chair back and walks away from the table, “I have to call Luis back to confirm our appointment and then I have to drive out to the penitentiary of Ezeiza to meet my client for the first time today.”

Diego follows him to the living room, grasping his arm from behind, but Edinson snaps himself loose. He turns to look at Diego squarely, and takes a moment to compose himself before he speaks.

“Things were said today…that really concern both of us. When we get home later tonight, we need to talk.”

☼

It takes him the entire commute from his apartment to the Ezeiza correctional facility to compose himself. When he was seated with his clients, he needed to be professional and level-headed.

It’s funny. Over the years, Edinson has learned how to thwart or blunt the effects of life’s blows. Except when it came to love. Love is the only emotion that couldn't be fully experienced without vulnerability.

He thinks to himself how the love he feels for Diego disarmed him. Diego knew all his secrets like the way he knew his body. Knew exactly where to press to make it hurt _if_ and _when_ he wanted to hurt him. And there was nothing he could do but hope that Diego wouldn’t use the access he had given to him against him.

It seemed that in the past months, he’d become more jealous. More controlling of him in a way that was different from the Diego he used to know. He runs his finger over his engagement band absentmindedly until he hears the guards bringing in his client.

Edinson sits upright and watches as Leandro is led in and guided to the seat across from him. Leandro keeps his eyes down cast. From the dark circles under his eyes, it was fully apparent that he wasn’t getting any sleep.

“Can you please remove the handcuffs?” Edinson gestures to one of the guards.

“This shit stain right here killed someone with his bare hands,” the guard points to Leandro, who’s sitting down looking ahead of him without really looking, “You sure you want him to lose the cuffs, boss?”

“Please.” Edinson nods, throwing a hard look at the guard. He wants to make him take back his comment calling his client a shit stain, but decides it isn’t worth his time. The guard removes the cuffs and Leandro immediately massages his wrists. A tinge of relief to be free of the constant reminder of the restrictions prison imposes on his will to move freely. The door closes behind them and Edinson pours them both a glass of water.

“So you’re _Cavani_. The lawyer El Doc told me about.” Leandro mutters as he reaches for his glass. He drinks it all in a gulp and sets the glass down, brushing it aside with the back of his hand.

“Call me Edinson. Or Edi. Whichever you prefer.” He extends his hand which Leandro accepts.

Leandro lolls his tongue across the cut on his bottom lip, eyes darting from the files and back to the pitcher of water.

“Can I get another glass?” he asks.

Edinson pours him another serving, and he takes a moment to loosen his tie. He considers taking off his suit jacket but decides to leave it on. He wants to get straight to work, but reins in his impatience. These first moments were important to build rapport. Within minutes, he needed to get Leandro to trust him.

“How do you know El Doc?” Leandro’s eyebrows shoot up in a quick flash and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“I met Dr. Tabárez when I was in prison.” Edinson responds. He forces himself to maintain eye contact though he feels somewhat exposed talking about a part of his life he would prefer to never discuss again. Not with anyone.

“No way. You’re a whole ass lawyer.” Leandro rubs his nose with the back of his hand, “You actually went to _jail_?” His face lights up with a hint of a smile. The smile is more of a flash of incredulity. Like he was waiting for Edinson to tell him he was only joking, but it disappears just as quickly. There’s nothing about the tone of Edinson’s voice or his demeanor that tells him he’s making this up.

“I _did_. I was fifteen when it happened. I went out one day with a couple of friends. I was excited because I had saved enough money to buy an official match ball. When we got to the store, one of my friends, Lorenzo…he decided to steal an expensive pair of adidas.” He clears his throat briefly. “Anyway, we were all rounded up. And my friend—the one who actually stole the shoes? He got to walk out.”

Edi looks to the side as if he’s recreating the memory while telling it.

“I paid for what he did. Me and my friend, whom we all called ‘_Cebolla_’ because when he would sweat—it was strong. Like the smell of onions…” Edinson lets out a humorless laugh and pauses to look up at Leandro, “…we paid for what our friend did while he got to walk out. _Free_.”

Edinson takes a sip from his glass of water and focuses on a speck of grime on the table to ground himself. A part of him can’t believe he’s talking to someone he’s only met for five minutes about something he can’t even discuss with his fiancé.

“A cop tricked me into confessing something I never did.” He lowers his voice. He tries to continue talking about what happened with as little emotion as possible, though the clench in his jaw betrays the pent-up anger and shame he’s feeling.

“There was nothing I could do but serve my time.” Edinson’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks back at Leandro, to see if he’s still following him. His pale blue eyes have a hardness to them that he didn’t see before.

“Dr. Tabárez became a close friend. He advocated on my behalf to have my sentence reduced to just six months. He helped me find a job once I got out.”

“Yep. That sounds like El Doc.” Leandro nods and crosses his arms across his chest.

Edinson smiles and lowers his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“My time was short…but the experience of losing my freedom and the things I had to go through in prison…they changed me.” Edinson swipes his tongue over his lips, “It’s one—if not the sole _reason_—why I decided to go into criminal law.” Edinson leans forward and clasps his hands together while looking at Leandro intently,

“The system fails people all the time, but I _believe_ in justice, Leandro…” Edinson’s eyes scan his client’s face who looks back at him with an expression as if he’s deciding whether he truly believes him. So far, Leandro’s eyebrows are low set in a pensive furrow, and he has not uncrossed his arms. “It’s just that, sometimes…it’s those who wear the shield of the law that demean the law and _everything_ justice stands for.”

“Have you ever represented a murderer?” Leandro asks point blankly. “Because I _killed_ that bitch motherfucker López.” He raises his voice.

Edinson leans back to reassess Leandro, who hurriedly uncrosses his arms and slaps his palms against the table.

“You look like you know your shit and have done your due diligence. I’m sure you’ve read my confession a hundred times,” Leandro waves his hands over the stack of files Edinson has laid out on the desk, “You say you believe in justice—so tell me. What does the law say should be done with murderers to invoke justice?”

Leandro’s eyebrows shoot up making the blue of his eyes stand out against his dark features. Beneath the false pretense of anger, Edinson can sense his fear.

“The law says he who commits murder is a menace to society and should be put to death.” Leandro barks and Edinson presses his lips.

“Sometimes…what the law says and what justice call for dictate two completely different things.” Edinson speaks calmly. He extends his arm to put his hand over Leandro’s hand. He takes it as a good sign when he sees Leandro doesn’t refuse his touch.

“The most _extreme_ sentence issued to those convicted of murder in the first degree is the death penalty,” Edinson scans Leandro’s face and he swears he sees his eyes moisten, “I will work with everything I have to make sure that your case is seen through the eyes of justice, which would be to reduce your sentence to forty-five years to life in prison, with the probability of parole.”

The room is silent for a few beats and Edinson squeezes Leandro’s hand in a comforting gesture before he lets it go to grab his pen.

“I am meeting with Luis Suárez—who’s leading the prosecution—later today to review the case they have made against you before we set a date for your trial.” Edinson explains.

Leandro reaches for his glass of water while Edinson folds back his legal pad to find a clean page.

“We don’t have a lot of time left,” Edinson speaks as he pulls back the sleeve of his suit jacket to look at his watch, “so we’ll have to be efficient today. I’ll have to schedule a follow up meeting with you to finish what we can’t today, _ta__?_”

Leandro nods and leans forward.

“Let’s start with your biographical sketch. From your first offense which led to your conviction for robbing a bank, to your time served in prison and being granted parole.” Edinson uncaps his pen and makes a few notes at the heading.

“I read what the police reports and what others have said about you. But I want to hear it all from you.”

Their eyes meet, and for the first time in the course of their entire meeting, Edinson can see that Leandro looks relaxed.

☼

“I swear that when I saw your name, I thought—mother_fucker_—what are the odds?” Luis smiles broadly as he pulls Edinson’s hand towards him in a firm handshake. “To think that if you had joined the division of the attorney general, we’d share the space.”

Edinson makes a gesture of relief, “Work for the attorney general and miss out on the chance to legally yell at prosecutors and judges?” he snorts, “No thanks, I’ll pass. Being a public defender is more fun.”

Luis brings his hands in a clapping gesture and leans forward, shoulders shaking as he lets out a half-hearted laugh. “Come to think of it, it suits you better. I mean—you were always a bit of a renegade. Just the way we got through the post-law school gauntlet should have predicted where we’d end up.”

“What do you mean by that?" Edinson furrows his brow, turning his head to face Luis as they go up a flight of stairs. “Since you’ve known me, you knew I wanted to become a public defender.” He pulls his lips inward to moisten them, while Luis smiles a tight grin.

Luis gives Edi a look as if saying ‘_Really?,_’ for a fraction of a second before it’s washed over by a more pensive expression. “I’m referring to the reason we broke up, fool,” Luis taps Edi’s arm, “While I was doing this internship that paid jack shit, I bussed tables at fancy restaurants for a while before switching to tutoring law school students. And you? You were giving out blow jobs for 900 _pesos, _and letting old perverts with money fuck you for a cool 4K.”

_It paid the rent. It paid the bills. And I paid you back what I borrowed to get my friend out of jail and into rehab. _Edinson thinks to himself as a silent response while Luis opens the door to his office and ushers him inside.

“To refresh your memory—we had broken up before I began doing sex work...which _ironically_ is something that you suggested I take up, even though it was said a joke.” Edi presses his lips together and gives Luis a taunting look. “The reason we were still living together was because we decided to pool together our income to get by for the time being. Don’t make it sound like I was a lying, cheating ex. I was good to you, _Luisito_. I made mistakes…but I was good to you while it lasted.” Edi sits down and runs his hand over his hair while he watches Luis walk over to take his seat by his office desk.

“Yeah, now it’s coming back to me.” Luis huffs as he plops down by his seat. “We broke up over the whole fiasco for bailing out that junkie friend of yours. Which honestly, Edi? He should have done his time, if you ask me. How much do you want to bet that friend of yours has gone back to old habits?”

“Tincho’s doing quite well for himself.” Edinson leans forward, focusing on keeping the tone of his voice neutral. He keeps at the forefront of his thoughts the reminder that he’s meeting with Luis to negotiate, and he doesn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. “He got his certificate for alcohol and substance abuse counseling and he does a lot of work in the _villas_ to keep young people out of trouble. I’d say it was a worthwhile investment we made bailing him out and paying for rehab.”

“No—that’s all on you. I honestly had no part in that.” Luis shrugs, “You sort of just took a good hunk of our savings without asking me. It was the fact that you blindsided me that made me realize I couldn’t trust you ever again.”

Edinson lowers his eyes briefly and picks up his briefcase. He was hoping for a quick, focused meeting where they could find as much common ground possible, but by the way the conversation had turned, it would make it difficult to ask Luis to agree to any of his concessions.

“So you're still with the same guy?” Luis asks to change the subject. 

“Yes...whether you want to believe it or not, I'm still with him.” Edinson speaks calmly as he lays out a couple of his files in front of him. He decides they’ve talked enough about their past and he switches the focus to a more positive note. “It’s good seeing you Luis. It’s good to see you’re doing well, that all your hard work paid off and you got promoted to Assistant DA.”

“Thanks.” Luis smiles. “I wish I could say the same about you. It’s easy to get what you want when your boyfriend is also your sugar daddy.” He observes Edinson intently for any visible signs of anger or annoyance and finds none. Edi only gives him a slight flash of being taken aback by his last comment with a quick raise of his eyebrows and his lips parting—as if wanting to speak, but finding himself speechless. Luis grimaces, clearing his throat before he speaks again, “Look, Edi. What happened between us, it was long ago. Of course I get annoyed when I think about some things, but I want you to know there are no hard feelings—at least from my end.”

“I didn’t think there were any. You’ve been nothing but kind and inviting this whole time with me.” Edinson makes himself smile. _Except for that last sugar daddy comment._ He thinks to himself._ I didn’t fuck my way to success or to a life of comfort. I’m my own boss and I bust my ass at work_.

“Glad to hear that.” Luis brings a hand over his face and rubs his eyes before he turns to his computer and types in his password. Edinson looks on as Luis chews on his gum while he scans his email. “Just give me a moment.” Luis mumbles as he begins tapping out an email response. “I just have to send out a couple of quick email responses. Then we’ll get down to business.”

Edinson lets out a sharp exhale through his nose and looks at his watch. _Looks like not much has changed. Check your email on your own time. Not during the time I asked you to make for us to go over details regarding my client. Someone who doesn’t deserve to die._

Luis sends out his responses and takes out his phone, checking his notifications. It unnerves Edi when he sees him responding to text messages. He realizes this is just another tactic Luis is using to make him feel the weight of his power. There simply was no reason why he would make him wait. 

“Luis,” Edinson interrupts, “I’m sorry, but time is running out and I’d like to get started discussing the Paredes case.”

Luis looks back at Edinson, taken aback by his audacity. He never liked being told what to do.

“I think we can both agree that we serve to promote and enforce justice,” Edinson begins, “so I was surprised when you pressed for the death penalty.”

Luis gives Edinson an empty stare. He raps his fingers against the files in front of him.

“He killed a federal officer, Edi. That is a serious offense in the eyes of the law, and he has a record.” He shrugs and his eyebrows flash like a momentary accent mark on the tension between them.

“I’m just enforcing the penal code.”

☼

Edinson stores the copies that Luis gave him inside a box in his trunk.

He thinks back to specific details that came out of their meeting. The start date for the trial had to be scheduled in no later than four months, the maximum time limit that the court system of the autonomous city of Buenos Aires would allow. And yet, he wonders if this would be enough time to build the best case to defend Leandro. To top it off, he wasn’t thrilled when he found out that Judge Jorge Sampaoli would preside over the case, as he was known to be very conservative.

The one advantage he has in this case was knowing how Luis thinks. Luis was never one to play fair, and for this he needed to be prepared for any weaknesses that Luis could manipulate to sway the jury in his favor. Luis had a prosecutorial style that was intense. He was a grandstander who would put on a show to manipulate emotions and sentiments. If you weren’t careful, Luis would pull you into his court where you were forced to play by his rules. Just in his office, he already got a taste of that. All of this would make it difficult to present the facts calmly, and for this he needed to take a defensive approach to thwart Luis’ tactics.

He gets into the car and he checks his phone for messages. He reads a text that Diego had sent him while he was meeting with Luis:

_I’m working until late._

_Have dinner without me._

He taps a response:

_ Thanks for letting me know._

_ Will do. _

_ What time will you be home?_

Edinson gets the gnawing suspicion that something is up. He figures that Diego probably wants to avoid discussing issues that stemmed from their arguments earlier that morning, and he wishes it weren’t true. It was unlike Diego to cower away from working out problems or disagreements between them. It was not the Diego he knew and loved, anyway.

As he’s driving home, he decides he will dine and get a drink by Verne Club, a relatively new bar that had opened in Palermo.

He sits at the bar and one of the bartenders catches his eyes. There was an air of playfulness to the guy that makes Edinson smile without him even realizing. The bartender approaches him, and Edinson feels flustered in a way he doesn’t usually get around others.

“A gin and tonic.” Edinson yells out his order over the loud music.

“You got it, _irmão_.” The bartender clicks his tongue and gives him a smile that feels as warm as the Mar Platense sun in the summertime.

When he returns with his drink, Edinson reaches out and touches his forearm.

“Are you Brazilian?” he asks for the sake of asking. It’s a stupid question—he knows—but nothing else comes to mind to start a conversation.

“You already know that,” the bartender’s green eyes narrow as he flashes him the biggest smile Edinson has seen him smile all night, “but what would you like to know?”

Edinson laughs, and he almost thinks he’s getting drunk from just being around this guy’s energy. Without breaking eye contact, he picks up his drink and takes a sip. The bartender leans forward and extends his hand to out brush away a couple of strands that had fallen over Edi’s face. A bold gesture.

“I’m David—and would you like me to open a tab for you, beautiful stranger?”

Edinson lowers his eyes to reach for his wallet. “Sure,” he responds, “and I’m Edi by the way.”

David holds out his hand to receive Edinson’s card and his eyes widen he notices the band on his ring finger. David brings his hand over his mouth to cover up a blushing smile, and he laughs nervously.

“What’s a married man doing in a singles bar? Are you looking for some side action?”

“Not married. _Engaged_.” Edinson assures David and brings his hand over his shoulder. “And I’m sorry, I just want to be sure I heard you right. This is a _singles_ bar?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” David reaches for a handful of napkins and slaps them against the bar. “Either that, or you must never go out.”

“You’re right about the part of me hardly ever going out.” Edinson gives David a smile to match.

David lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “Edi, right?” He looks up once more, smiling wider, “You’re quite a flirt for someone who’s taken.” He leans against his forearms across the bar, shifting as close to Edi as possible to avoid having to raise his voice over the music. “Okay so I was joking about this being exclusively a _singles_ bar, but in case you haven’t noticed, this place caters to a younger crowd and people who’re usually single and come here to find a hot piece of ass for the night. Or meet the love of their life if they're the romantic types.”

Edinson sips on his drink, focusing on the sensation of the carbon bubbles from the tonic water tickling his mouth and he looks around him. He’s settled and relaxed enough to finally tune into the music—and sure enough, the bar is playing a trap song about giving a rim job. He feels a little self-conscious. It’s not as if he’s never had his ass eaten out, or hasn’t done the same. It wasn’t the kind of casual sex act he’d imagine being sung about—such as kissing or making love. He lets it go and continues scanning the bar. The décor and overhead lights are flashy and on par with the latest trends, blending sophistication with an urban touch.

“I hope you didn’t think I was hitting on you earlier.” David interrupts, “We’re paid extra to flirt with our clients and make them feel like they have it going on to boost their confidence.”

“And I hope you know that you can just be yourself with me." Edinson responds with a wink, "It’s tiring having to play something you’re not. I used to wait tables. I could never show I was annoyed, sad, tired or angry. The pay was awful, and I was lucky if someone left a tip. I eventually moved on to other service work that paid more…” Edinson pauses to take a sip of his drink while he chooses his next words carefully. David looks back at him, a small smile on his face and with a look to show him he was listening to him intently. Edi decides that while he seems friendly and trustworthy, David is practically a stranger. He might be disclosing too much, too early. “The point is, I get it. Service work is hard and not appreciated enough.”

David looks down at the bar countertop and crumbles up a straw wrapper someone had left behind. “That’s kind of you to say.” He smiles bashfully before he redirects the attention away from himself, “So where’s your fiancé?”

“He’s is working late tonight.” Edi responds before sipping on his drink.

David’s grin grows wider. “If I had a fiancé like you…I would count the hours to get back home.” David raps Edi’s card against the bar table, eyes narrowing as a thought occurs to him. “You don’t get jealous or worry what he might be up to? Or are you two in an open relationship, don’t ask, don’t tell kind of deal?”

“You could say that we started out as an open relationship, but now, we are exclusive.” Edi picks up a napkin and sets down his drink over it. “Sure, I get jealous sometimes…but no, I don’t really worry about him seeing someone else. He’s promised that we are for each other only…and I trust him.”

“Sorry if this is a really personal question, but have you ever cheated on him?” David’s eyes scan his face, lowering them briefly when Edinson’s face looks like he wants to spit out his drink.

“I’ve never been unfaithful to him.” Edinson sets his glass down firmly, and looks up to hold David’s gaze. He thinks for a moment how it sounds like it could be a lie. Except it isn’t.

“I ask, because different couples have different standards for what they consider cheating.” David exhales sharply while he smiles. “How long, or how short is the leash he keeps you on?”

“Why do you ask?” Edinson changes the tone of his voice. He doesn’t know where this conversation is going but he picks up on something that makes him feel like he might be wondering into dangerous territory.

David shrugs. “I’m just curious. Just seeing the variability of what people give up for other people…it’s interesting.”

“I don’t see it like that.” Edinson pauses to sip on his drink, “It’s not so much about what you give up as it is about what you’re trying to build with another person.”

David smiles, shaking his head, his long, wispy curls swaying. “Tell me about your fiancé. Is he as beautiful as you?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Edinson breaks eye contact and takes out his phone.

He looks through his photo album, searching for a good picture and is surprised to realize he doesn’t have recent pictures of them together. He realizes he should probably search through his albums sorted by year and decides to go with 2018. Only a year ago. He recalls vacationing in Punta del Este that year—and remembers it being a week of a lot of sun and sex. He tilts his phone away from David’s view just in case any indecent photos of him or Diego enter into view. A part of him feels so dirty, having taken so many photos and videos of them engaging in all kinds of sexual activity, until he realizes that him expressing his sexuality with the man he loves is nothing to be ashamed about. Maybe it’s the act of scrolling through these intimate moments in front of a stranger that made him feel self-conscious. It feels like an hour, though only no more than a couple of minutes have passed by when he finally selects one photo that he finds to his liking to show David.

David pinches the photo to zoom in on their faces and his eyebrows leap when he zooms in on Diego’s face.

“I’ve seen him come by here a couple of times,” David taps Edi’s debit card against the bar, handing back Edi his phone.

Edinson puts his phone away and looks up at David.

“Really?” he asks.

David looks like he wants to say more, but instead walks away.

“Yes, _really_,” he calls out, “Just let me open your tab before I forget.”

☼

When Edinson gets home, he showers, brushes his teeth and gets into bed. Before he turns off the lights, he thinks about his conversation with David by the bar. The realization that it’s been a year since he and Diego did something together as a couple begins to stir many insecurities.

He thinks back to one of their more recent discussions, just three days ago, after Diego had proposed to him. Perhaps Diego did have a point about them not spending enough time together as a couple. Months before Diego asked him to marry him, they hardly saw each other at home and sex between them had diminished. Could it be that Diego had briefly taken another lover because he had failed him in some way? When did things really start to turn between them? These new doubts, coupled with their argument this morning makes Edinson uneasy.

He reaches for his phone and composes a text:

_ It’s late, Diego. I’m going_

_ to bed._

_ Wake me up when you get_

_ home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -30 December 2020: Chapter 2 had been updated. I expanded this chapter adding 2,204 words without changing the plot.
> 
> Due to ridiculous inflation, the equivalent of $100USD in Argentinian _pesos_ is $900. And $500USD is about $4K in Argentinian _pesos_, for those who wanted to know how much our beloved protagonist was pulling in.
> 
> _Villas_ are slums.


	3. Chapter 3

Edinson is almost in the full clutch of sleep when he hears Diego’s footsteps. He could recognize the beat of his gait from anywhere. He wants to see what time it is, but his arms and eyelids feel heavy. He can barely process his own thoughts—but something about knowing that Diego is finally home alleviates his worry. Whatever he was up to that night, at least he’s home.

The sound of Diego setting down his bag and the flick of the switch that turns the bathroom lights on makes Edinson stir. He feels the soft light on his face and he grimaces. He shifts his body to the side, facing away just as Diego turns on the showerhead. The sound of the monotonous chatter of the water against the porcelain is soothing and Edinson feels his breathing relax again.

In what feels like just seconds later, he is brought back to a state somewhere between awareness and drowsiness when Diego climbs onto their bed. Edinson senses him peeling back the covers while he makes himself edge closer to the center, where the mattress dips—where he’s currently nestled as he’s trying to sleep. Diego positions himself behind him, pressing the bare skin of his hips against his naked backside. The curve of Edinson’s spine is stacked perfectly against Diego’s chest, and for a moment, it feels nice. It feels nice until he remembers he and Diego haven’t cleared the air between them, and there’s a lot that needs to be hashed out and resolved.

Moments later, Diego slides his hand over Edinson’s chest, fingers grazing over his nipple before he rests his palm over him to feel his heartbeats while burying his nose into his hair. Edinson gasps and feels a pang of something reach his loins when he feels Diego’s cock brush against him, the head smearing against the cleft of his backside.

The thrill travels like a mild current rippling beneath the layers of his skin, raising goosebumps to the surface. But Edinson doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound. It’s clear these caresses carry Diego’s intent to seduce and arouse. A classic tactic of canceling out the searing burn of his anger by igniting the fire between his thighs. Diego’s hand dips lower, grasping the tight muscles of his obliques before grazing his fingers ever so gently over his abdomen, right below his navel. The warm, tingling sensation makes him shiver. Edinson sighs in unison with Diego who presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder. He presses another one with a slight touch of tongue that Edinson finds hard to ignore. He inhales sharply—a sound that Diego’s clearly listening for to know if he’s awake and receptive to his touches.

Edinson turns his head before he shifts his entire body towards Diego, facing him. Chest to chest.

“Did you miss me? Hmm?” Diego whispers, his breath sweet from the residual mint flavored toothpaste. He presses a soft kiss over Edinson’s mouth while the palm of his hand runs languid, gentle strokes along his back.

“Because I’ve missed you, my love.” Diego speaks over Edinson’s mouth as he cups his hand over his backside, squeezing one of his cheeks. Edinson gasps and Diego goes in for a deeper kiss, exhaling sharply from his nose.

Edinson breaks the kiss and tries to make out the lines of Diego’s face in the darkness of the room and he smiles weakly.

“I’ve been thinking of you all day,” Diego hums as he runs his hand over the cleft of Edinson’s behind, “and how to make it up to you after this morning.” He parts his cheeks, running his fingers up and down over his hole.

Edinson doesn’t know how he truly feels about Diego’s sense of entitlement to his body. As much as he enjoys Diego’s spontaneous sensual caresses, tonight, his touches feel unwelcome. Not because they don’t feel good—but because these touches carried intent to distract him from discussing unresolved issues.

“Diego, stop.” Edinson whispers, “Please…stop.” He insists while his body writhes to pull out of Diego’s embrace. Diego only pulls him back in, holding him closer.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, are you?” Diego whispers. His fingers continue sliding back and forth between the part of his cheeks. They briefly encircle his entrance, pausing to press into him, fingers sinking into him making Edinson gasp involuntarily.

“You like that now, do you?” Diego keeps his voice low.

Edinson doesn’t fight Diego as his fingers move in and out of him in slow strokes, pressing against the walls of his tightness in gentle efforts to loosen him up. He’s already feeling aroused and for a few minutes he thinks maybe it’s not such a bad idea to let it all go and make love. He sighs with disappointment when Diego withdraws his fingers to continue caressing him from outside. Mostly disappointed at himself that he’s falling under Diego’s spell.

Diego’s making it clear he intends to fuck him and avoid picking up their earlier discussion. There’s no arguing that. He’s now left to wonder if he can leverage this situation to his advantage somehow for what he most wants to get out of Diego. He doesn't want him to get his way. Not again. Not tonight.

“Is it just me, or did it just get really warm in here?” Diego asks while he throws back the covers and sheets, exposing their naked bodies to the darkness of the room. Edinson reflexively brings his knees to his chest into a quasi-fetal position. It feels cold and then it doesn’t when Diego presses on the bend of Edinson’s knee to part his legs and positions himself in between them.

Diego grasps his hips, holding him down as he presses a wet kiss right above the short tuft of curls by his pubic area, a small patch Edinson grew out and maintained for Diego. Though if it were up to him, he’d be hairless.

He thinks back to their early days when their relationship shifted from being purely transactional, to an attempt at a romantic relationship. He was transitioning from being a whore Diego hired every now and then for his pleasure to his actual love interest, when Diego commented on how he liked a little bit of pubic hair.

“I want to feel like I’m with a _man_—someone _seasoned_ and thoroughly perverted so I don’t feel bad asking for the things I want and for doing the things I do.” Diego told him once, “There’s nothing hot about feeling like you’re taking a boy’s innocence. I know it’s the premise for a lot of porn, but it turns me off.”

Diego whispers expletives into his skin and looks up at Edinson, who’s looking back at him through half closed eyes, biting down on his lower lip. The sensation of Diego’s breath over his skin along with his mouth hovering over his cock is enough to make Edinson flush with want and start leaking. He jolts with sharp intake of breath, when Diego paints his lower lip with the tip just before taking him into his mouth.

Edinson can’t remember the last time Diego went out of his way to pleasure him like this. A dark wave of lust ripples through him, drowning out the bitter feelings he’s held onto all day. Diego takes more of him, throat vibrating, cheeks hollowed out as he moves up and down his shaft in fluid, practiced motions.

Edinson looks on as Diego works him until he can’t. His breathing speeds up, his lips part in a desperate gasp for air and he squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts so good that he lets out a shuddering moan and he reaches out to grab onto Diego’s hair. Diego looks up, a perverse glint in his eyes. He gives him up and makes a fist around his shaft, moving up and down in rhythmic fashion while he licks around his mouth.

A few beats later, Diego climbs over him, licking into his mouth, transferring the taste of himself onto his tongue.

“Turn around so I can give it to you.” Diego whispers.

It takes everything that Edinson’s got left in him to fight the urge to drop everything he wants to say to Diego and pretend that nothing’s bothering him. A part of him wants the sex. With Diego having been so unreachable for weeks, Edi wants the closeness he had been missing. Even if for now, the closeness is just physical.

Stubborn as he is, he inevitably finds his strength and resists the force of Diego’s grip on his hips that try to coax him to roll over, bending him to his will.

“Diego, wait. Stop.” Edinson speaks up, voice shaking.

He presses his hand against Diego’s chest, a non-verbal plea to get Diego to back away and scoots back to sit up. He looks over to the nightstand to check the time and is surprised to see it’s a little past 4 hours. He turns to look at Diego, his face illuminated from the little bit of light seeping into their room from the part of the curtains. Diego grins, grasping the side of Edinson’s face, running his thumb over his lips.

“We need to set a few things straight between us.” Edinson gently presses back on Diego’s wrist.

“Sure—after we do it?” Diego’s hand slides to the back of Edinson’s head twirling his hair between his fingers.

“Diego—_please_.”

Diego traps a fistful of Edinson’s hair making him tense up. He reflexively reaches behind him, grabbing Diego’s wrist.

“What’s the matter?” He lets go of Edinson’s hair.

The fact that Diego downplays his request to talk irritates him.

Edinson presses with insistence, “There’s a few things I really want to get off my chest.”

“And it’s so urgent that it can’t wait until morning?” Diego responds, the tone of his voice banal before he leans in to kiss him.

_Why do you have to be like this? _Edinson thinks to himself. He wonders if there’s anything at all that he can do to reach into him to make him listen. He indulges Diego—an effort to soften him—when he leans into the kiss, letting out a sigh as he opens wide to the forceful press of Diego’s tongue. Edinson runs his hand through Diego’s hair, still damp from showering, caressing the side of his face before he pulls away to ask, “Diego, please, can we just talk things over?”

“Let it go for now and let’s discuss in the morning?” Diego dismisses Edinson’s plea, leaning in to kiss again.

Edinson shuts his eyes and turns his face away. The inordinate amount of attention he’s getting at the moment is an attempt to hide something.

“Diego…where were you tonight?” he speaks, keeping his voice low and calm.

Diego’s eyes widen for a moment, as if he’s taken back by surprise. He licks his lips before he responds. “You’re putting me on trial for working late?” He raises his eyebrows as the corners of his mouth tug into a slanted grin.

“So you were working this whole time?” Edinson presses for a direct answer, “What kept you so long?” He lets out a humorless laugh, observing how Diego looks back at him, as if composing his response. He licks his lips and pulls them in, waiting for a response.

Something about the way Diego looks at him darkens.

“As part of my fellowship, I mentor a few medical students who are in their last year and applying to do their residency in cardiology.” Diego sighs while running a hand through Edinson’s hair, “I worked with one today. He shadowed me as I made some rounds in the hospital this evening.”

The more Edinson thinks about Diego's response, the more unsure he feels whether he _believes_ him. It sounds like it could be plausible, and again, maybe not. His answer could also be rehearsed. 

Diego lets out an exasperated sigh, sensing Edi’s hesitation from the way he looks at him.

“Edi, don’t give me those eyes.” He speaks to him quietly, with his voice barely above a whisper. He grasps Edinson's face and leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, “Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Whether you believe me or not—that’s _your_problem.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. Edinson stirs and runs his hand nervously through his hair. He hates how Diego has a way of acquitting himself of the slightest reproach and making it seem like he’s the one with the problem. Like he’s the source of conflict and the one with trust issues. Edinson swallows hard.

“I went to a bar after work.” Edinson nudges Diego, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Hmm?” Diego responds as he massages the back of Edi’s neck.

“While I was talking to one of the bartenders, telling him about you…” Edi looks up and he swears that Diego is holding his breath, “...I realized that we haven’t gone out to do things…as a couple…for a _long_ time.”

Edinson reaches behind him to clasp his hand over Diego’s hand that has stopped stroking the back of his neck.

“The last time we did something together was when we took a vacation to Punta del Este. Remember?”

Diego lowers his eyes and smiles, shaking his head.

“How could I _not_ remember?” He brings his head back, knuckling his eye and laughs briefly. “The things you let me do to you…it’s how I knew you were the one for me.” He gives Edinson a quick kiss, immediately followed by another kiss—one that was more forceful. “So you really interrupted us getting down to business…just to tell me that it took a conversation with a stranger to make you realize we need to do it more?” Diego grasps Edinson’s chin firmly, “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you last week?”

Edinson turns his face away as the blood rushes to his cheeks and he needs a moment to compose himself. It wasn't even a question of how often they're having sex, but on quality time spent with each other.

“Diego, that’s not what I meant—”

Diego silences him mid-sentence kissing him hard, with the accidental grazing of teeth from the force of his approach before his tongue invades his mouth. A small sound of discomfort is caught in Edinson’s throat, trapped between his and Diego’s mouths.

Sometimes, the way Diego imposes himself during sex turns Edinson on. At least, there is one area in his life where he’s taken care of and doesn’t have to grapple with taking charge. It’s one of the little differences between them that work. Just like the way they share the bed. When they sleep, Diego runs hot—kicking the comforter aside, bedsheets twisted and mangled by his feet while Edinson runs cold, tucking himself into the folds. Trapping the heat of their bodies in the bunched-up creases of the sheets he holds towards his chest, like a stuffed animal from his childhood for comfort. Except tonight, something about the way Diego's imposing himself makes him uneasy. Edinson's breathing speeds up and he breaks the kiss, stretching out his arms to push Diego away. Something inside him propels him to act to buy him a margin of safe distance.

“Whatever you want to talk about…can we leave it for the morning?” Diego’s face looks more visible to Edinson. Either his eyes have adjusted fully to the darkness in the room, or more light is flooding in to illuminate the space. An early sign that the sun is about to rise.

_Diego, is there someone else?_ Is the question that’s burning to be asked, but Edinson just can’t bring himself to say it.

He wonders if Diego could read his thoughts. He looks on at the way Diego presses his lips and his nostrils flare out in frustration while locking eyes. Not even a moment passes between them when Diego makes it clear that he’s not requesting to continue speaking later, but commanding it. Diego scoots to the edge of the mattress and yanks open the night table drawer for the lubricant.

“Turn around, and let me give it to you.”

Edi sits defiantly.

“Diego, is there someone else?”

The question makes Diego pinch back his shoulders. He turns and grasps Edinson’s forearm yanking him towards him.

“How could you think such a thing? Edi—what kind of stupid question is that?”

“Answer it.” Edi mutters through clenched teeth.

Diego tightens his grip on Edinson’s wrist before he lets go to push him on his back. Edinson motions to sit up, but Diego flips him over, grasping his neck from behind, forcing his head against the mattress.

It’s a struggle and it isn’t.

His backside is raised and squared against Diego’s hips. A rude parting of his legs makes him gasp before Diego’s fingers plunge into him, stretching his ring open. Just enough to allow a drizzle of lubricant into him. Some of it spills and runs on along his inner thighs and his breath trembles. He hears the wet sounds of Diego stroking himself. Lathering himself up with lube. It occurs for him to move but Diego extends his arm, and his hand squeezes around the back of his neck, dangerously close to his pressure points. His lower lip quivers when he feels Diego aligning himself against his backside.

“Diego, please.” It comes out breathlessly. “Stop.”

Diego begins pressing himself into him and Edinson takes a deep breath to absorb the initial shock from the pressure of stretching around the length of Diego’s cock. It’s hard to breathe though—especially when he’s in this position which makes it harder to relax into the deep stretch. The pain feels like it’s too much and he cries out. He jolts and shakes—motioning to pull away—but Diego’s vice-like grasp the back of his neck makes him afraid to move. He’s forced to take all of it.

“Diego, please—” He sobs.

Diego withdraws his hand from his neck, and grasps his hips, holding him against him for a few seconds before he pulls out completely.

Edinson sucks in a breath and blinks away the tears stinging his eyes. He feels Diego’s hand part his cheek to the side as he introduces himself into him again. Edi bites down on his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels his body giving way to Diego’s intrusion. He’s not sure how to register this between the confusion of oscillating between just letting Diego make love to him as if nothing had happened, to rejecting his advances—wanting to hold him accountable for several things first before having sex to make up.

A few beats of slow fucking go by. Edinson is much too tense, and Diego continues to work to loosen him up. Pausing when he’s all the way in just to allow Edinson to get used to the fullness of him. Watching him clawing the bedsheets beneath him, gasping for breath and letting out the occasional whimper or strangled-out sound. All of them signs that he wasn’t ready for Diego to let himself go and fuck into him with abandon.

Edinson figures he wants to have a say in this. He doesn’t like the fact that Diego took it upon himself to penetrate him, in the same way he’s imposed himself on him—not listening to him, his wants or concerns. He figures for now, the safest course of action would be to go along. To get it over with. He’ll confront Diego about all of this later. Edinson relaxes his sphincter, no longer letting it clench around Diego’s cock, preventing him from being able to drive into him with little resistance and he meets Diego’s thrusts with his own.

He eventually resigns himself to a ruthless, lustful fuck. The pace is dictated by Diego’s ravenous hunger in want of satiety. It’s a rhythm that took Edinson’s body a long time to get used to. He’s at the point now where he kind of likes the sex like this. A little rough. A press of urgent. He doesn’t know if getting fucked like this makes him feel loved—but he definitely feels wanted.

“Tell me Edi,” Diego speaks between clenched teeth, “…do you honestly think I’d be able to come home…and fuck you like this if I had someone else? _Hmm?_”

There it was. The source of Diego’s anger with him.

Edinson stays silent. Why would Diego cast doubt on the idea of him having someone else? He had some suspicion for sometime that maybe Diego had taken another lover—but had never made mention of it until now. Maybe Diego has a right to be angry at him for doubting his whereabouts. And maybe. Just maybe he had edged too close to something he’s trying to conceal.

He sucks in a breath and grabs fistfuls of the sheets beneath him as he feels the pace quicken. He feels so full with Diego, as if his cock had grown thicker and harder, and every thrust repetitively grazes over a spot inside him making a torrent of lights scatter across his vision. His breath shudders before he cries out, “Oh, _fuck! Ohmigod—Diego..._”.

It feels so good, that it hurts.

His mouth goes into a silent cry as he feels his stomach tightening. Every ache in his body signaling that he is approaching his release. The obsession to reach orgasm is almost all that he can think about that he can’t hear himself think. It hurts, but Diego’s fucking him good. So good to the point he can’t even put together a coherent sentence in his head. It makes everything that just happened not matter.

Diego leans forward, both hands grasping Edinson’s midsection, holding him down against the mattress as he pounds into him. Edinson gasps for air, reaching behind him, head and torso trapped in the bind of the hard press of Diego’s painful grip and the mattress beneath him—desperately trying to signal in confused stupor to Diego. He doesn’t know whether to tell him to stop or not stop, because it all feels good until it doesn’t. The sensations oscillate in a rhythm that’s dizzying. He wipes out some strands of hair that get caught in his mouth. He doesn’t know how much of this he can continue to take before he passes out.

No sooner he thinks this, and he hears Diego letting out a low groan. His thrusts become arrhythmic, and from the sensation of what feels like a hot liquid bullet being shot into him and the throbbing sensation of his cock, he knows Diego is coming. It triggers Edinson’s own release. His body tenses before a spasm courses over him and he spills himself onto the bed. He shakes and sighs in relief. He closes his eyes, lips quivering, heart pounding under Diego’s weight, ebbing in and out of awareness. He’s completely spent, too tired to do anything, and moments later, he falls asleep.

☼

Martín plops next to Edinson to finish drying himself off on the locker room bench. Both had showered after a quick high intensity workout and were getting dressed.

“So will you be able to drop me off to pick up my car from the mechanic?” Martín asks, continuing their conversation from earlier. He changes into his underwear, adjusting himself and turns to look at Edinson, who’s sitting beside him, looking at nowhere in particular with a pensive frown and otherwise unresponsive.

“So will you be able to, Edi?” Martín prods again, with no response. “Edi!,” he shakes him and Edinson looks back at him in surprise.

“You’ve been staring at that flyer on the wall for _dumb_ long, brother—_sheeesh_,” Martín gestures vaguely to the wall, “Were you just having a sex flashback?” he shakes his head with a wide grin.

Edinson opens his mouth to respond but ends up burying his face in his hands instead.

“So you were.” Martín chortles, “Fiancé clapped your cheeks hard last night, huh?”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, Martín.” Edinson lowers his hands from his face and gives him a tired look.

“More like he _definitely_ did,” Martín shakes his head, “cause the way you looked earlier—you looked like you’ve been fucked to the moon. Except you left your brain in outer space when you came back.”

Edinson makes a face at Martín. He wants to ask him since when does he care to know intimate details of his sex life, but decides to let it go. It would inevitably open up another conversation. One that usually led to both of them fighting to defend their differing view points.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all…and it doesn’t help that I barely got any sleep last night.”

“Everything okay at work? All’s good with your fam?” Martín asks out of genuine concern while adjusting his socks. He knew Edi was never one to be vocal about what bothered him unless he was pressed for it.

“Things have picked up at work, it’s been a little stressful, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Edi throws a glance at Martín while he buttons down his shirt, “My father still doesn’t talk to me since my brother outed me back when I used to…you _know_—” he smiles a tight grin, “…and Diego and me are just trying to adjust to some stress in our lives and find ways we can support each other.”

Martín nods. “I can understand the deal with your old man,” he presses his lips tightly, moving his lips side-to-side in a nervous twitch. “I don’t know what it must be like to roll rich _tíos_ like you did in your time, but I can imagine it had to have cost you something. Your old man’s probably upset with the fact you’d ever choose to do something degrading to get out of a tight spot…instead of asking for their help.”

“I would have never imagined I’d try sex work myself until I did it…and you might think I’m lying, _Tincho_—but it’s not very different from the service work I used to do.” Edi shrugs placidly, “It just gets a bad rep because people have this idea that sex is something special you do when you’re in love—when sex has nothing to do with love.” He quickly licks his lips before adding, “And regarding my father? It’s complicated between us. You don’t know my father like I do.” _It’s not as if he was ever there for support when we needed it most_. Edinson thinks to himself.

Martín takes the hint that Edi doesn’t want to talk about his father and makes a defensive gesture with his hands before walking to his locker to retrieve his shirt.

“We can agree to disagree. Our views on sex are different. I could never put a price for access to my body.” Martín comments as he pulls his t-shirt overhead. “You never really told me—even after all this time...how did you ever find yourself doing that line of work? Did someone introduce it to you? Did you search it out for yourself?”

_First of all, I never sold my body. I sold a service_. Edinson thinks to himself. He doesn’t respond to Martín, but he does go back to search in his memory to recall the circumstances in his life back then while he finishes dressing himself. He tries to think if he could identify one pivotal moment where it all unfolded, and one event directly led to another to the moment where accepting a proposition from his first client seemed not only the most logical but also the most natural course of action to take.

He can’t say this with certainty, but perhaps the event that precipitated it all was when his hours at the restaurant were cut back despite him pleading to the manager that he needed those hours. His waiting job supplemented for the meager wages he’d receive from being a public defender. The municipal government of Buenos Aires only compensated him for whatever hours he had to be in court—not recognizing how much of his own time he’d use to prepare a defense for his clients.

This was one of several dents in the Argentine justice system.

The only way public defenders could earn _livable_ wages was taking as many cases as they could while putting in as little effort as possible into them because it wasn’t as if they’d be getting compensated for this work anyway. This would lead to a vicious cycle of many citizens ending up with subpar legal representation in their defense, which led to more convictions, incarcerations and fines. _It was set up that way for a reason_.

The system that promised to uphold justice was none other than a business model—and it only benefitted those who had the means to afford a private attorney. Edinson had just graduated law school, passed his exams for licensure and already, he was disillusioned with his career choice and the system. It dawned on him that unless he could start his own practice or join a prestigious legal firm, he could never be the kind of lawyer he wanted to be.

It was one of those evenings where his manager asked him to work the bar instead of waiting tables when he noticed Pocho, one of his former classmates from law school, walking in and sit at the bar in the company of an older man. Pocho recognizes him and chats him up for a bit, introducing his date as his lover. They exchanged numbers and agree to catch up over coffee.

On their coffee date, Pocho explains to Edi that the very reasons why he had become disillusioned with the Argentine justice system were the reasons he withdrew from law school in the middle of his third year and focused on enhancing his prospects as a high-end prostitute, something he had already been doing on the side.

“You should try it.” Pocho raises a hand to shield the draft over his cigarette, loosely hanging from his lips while he lights it up with a match. “Tell you what. You should come on a date.” He adds after taking a quick drag, exhaling the smoke from his nose, “You, me, Rubén and one of his friends whose looking for company.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s for me.” Edi tilts his coffee cup to look at the foam clinging to the sides.

“You are single again, right? What’s the harm in just going on a dinner date? It’ll be fun, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to with his friend after if you don’t want to.”

The way Pocho makes it sound so casual manages to convince Edinson, and he takes up Pocho’s offer.

That night at the restaurant, Edinson observes the way Pocho flirts with Rubén. It’s so practiced and manufactured, that it makes him uneasy. Rubén was a married man who enjoyed casual trysts with men, and it was clear he was absolutely head over heels with Pocho. A part of Edinson feels sorry for him, seeing him so stupid, so lovesick over Pocho who doesn’t care for him in the least. And another part of him doesn’t feel bad. People like Rubén were scum for cheating on their wives and spending lavishly on their lovers who are so clearly only using them for the money. Edinson turns his attention for the remainder of the evening on Rubén’s friend, Mauricio.

He finds Mauricio kind and agreeable. He was freshly divorced and looking for company. It was going well until Mauricio reaches out to touch his forearm, making Edinson uneasy and he excuses himself to go to the restroom to compose himself.

He’s standing across the bathroom mirror, looking at himself, thinking about how he would let Mauricio know he wouldn’t be following him anywhere tonight when Pocho walks in to check on him.

“I forgot to give you this earlier.” Pocho pulls out an envelope from inside his suit jacket and hands it over to Edi.

Edinson peers inside and he almost lets out an audible gasp at how much money he counts at first glance. He tucks in the flap and hands it back to Pocho. “I can’t take this.”

“It’s just a gift from Mauricio, Edi.” Pocho sets the envelope back on the marble countertop before he walks out of the restroom.

Edinson takes a sharp intake a breath and shuts his eyes, hoping his beating heart would steady itself soon enough while he weighed his prospects. The envelope had a lot of money. It was the equivalent of one month’s wages.

He decides to take the envelope. Later that night, after dinner, he follows Mauricio to a nearby hotel.

_It was just that easy_.

Martín nudges Edinson, pulling him out of his thoughts. “So will you be able to drop me off?”

“Yeah, of course, Tincho.” He responds. "It's along the way, so it's no bother."

They’re making their way out to the gym’s parking lot when Martín tugs on Edi’s arm.

“Edi—you’ve never been able to pull a convincing act to cover up when you’re not okay. At least—not with me.” Martín furrows his brow, “You don’t have to tell me what’s up—but I just hope it all works out okay.”

Edinson smiles placidly and doesn’t say anything. He’s still processing what happened last night between him and Diego. He doesn’t need outside opinions on matters that concern his intimate life.

☼

_Earlier that morning_

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that last night.” Edinson greets Diego as he pours the hot water into the thermos and seals it tightly.

Diego runs his hand over Edinson’s hair, still wet from showering while he walks to the table.

“I wanted you,” Diego responds as he glances down at his phone, eyes scrolling through the morning headlines absentmindedly before he turns it off, “and I shouldn’t have to ask to take what is mine.”

Edinson smiles and facetiously nods in agreement.

“Good to know—let me ask you something,” Edinson speaks while he sets down the thermos. He rests both hands onto the table and leans in, looking squarely at Diego, “do you take care of what belongs to you?”

It took only moments for it to escalate into something ugly. Except Edinson wouldn’t back down. No matter how much Diego tried to drown out his voice shouting over him.

“Just what am I to you?” Edinson presses, “I don’t want to be with someone who treats me like I’m anything less of a person.”

“That’s not the way I see you.” Diego presses his lips into a tight frown. “I could never be with someone I do not see as my equal.”

“It’s not a question of how you see me—it’s how you _treat_ me, Diego.” Edinson adjusts his damp hair, “The comments about the kind of people my family are, looking down on the work I do as a defense lawyer. The way you fuck me like the way you fucked me last night and insinuate I have to be cheating on you because I used to be a whore. I can keep going.” His lips spread into a sarcastic grin—a smile to rein in his anger. “So much for being your equal...”

Diego leans into him, pressing a hand against his chest, “I know there’s more to the work that you do. You never gave me the chance to explain myself because you walked out on our conversation yesterday.”

Edinson shuts his eyes, exhaling sharply from his nose. “I walked out because I had to meet a client and proposed we talk it over later that night. Then you texted me that you wouldn’t come home until late. I really want to address what’s been happening between us, Diego. You’re the one avoiding having this conversation.”

“I don’t understand. What do you _mean_ by what’s happening between us? I just asked you to be mine forever.” Diego raises a hand to his face and Edinson jolts against his touch, the thumb grazing over the side of his face—cool and soothing against his cheeks, flushed with emotion. He closes in on the space between them.

“Diego—” Edinson whispers, but Diego hushes him before he can finish—pressing a soft kiss over his mouth.

When he pulls away, Edinson licks his lips, eyes downcast to hide his eyes that have started to well.

“Diego…you use this space to eat, sleep and fuck me when you feel like it...” he takes a deep breath when he feels his voice weaken, “What we have doesn’t feel like a _home_ I want to be in…and I _love_ you, Diego. I love you so much…it scares me.” He raises a hand to wipe away a tear before it can even run down his face, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else in my life…please…I need to know…”

When he looks back at Diego, his eyes are strained. His lips part and he hesitates before he speaks in a low, hushed voice.

“If you do meet someone else and are no longer in love with me…would you tell me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -7 January 2020: Chapter 3 has been updated. I expanded this chapter adding 1,479 words, adding to a backstory, but not changing the plot.
> 
> This chapter doesn't appear to be one that drives the plot of the story forward, but it's an important one that sets the premise for what's going to happen. The first 2/3 of this chapter described a sexual encounter, but it's not just sex. There's a lot of conscious metaphoric references embedded in there. Anyway. I guess if I really wanted to, I could have gone straight into the meeting with Paulo and how he learns more of the backstory between Leandro and Maxi. I've got a rough outline, so the next few chapters will be more plot driven and getting down at the characterization of the key players here. So apologies if this chapter reads a bit like it's dragging.


	4. Chapter 4

“How long have I known you for?” Martín asks.

Edinson knows it’s a rhetorical question. He takes his eyes off the road briefly and he gives his friend a tired look and a weak smile.

“My point exactly—” Martín huffs, “and if you don’t take care of yourself, you’re gonna _crack_.” he says as he brings the palm of his hands over his knee.

Without warning Edinson tenses and he veers his car to the right as another car cuts him off.

“Sonofa_bitch!_” Edi spits. “That’s right—go ahead.” He yells at the driver in front of him, “Just cut me off like that because your time’s more important than everyone else’s!”

Edinson presses his lips together tightly and exhales sharply through his nose before he addresses Martín, “Are all _porteños_ this entitled?” His eyebrows flash as his eyes widen with anger, “I don’t know why I continue to live in Buenos Aires—I _swear_.”

Martín turns to give Edinson a look of worry. He usually doesn’t let these incidents get under his skin to the point he exteriorizes his anger.

“Promise me that when you go home tonight, you’ll take it easy. That you’ll go out for a walk. Read a book. Prepare a bath. Have an orgasm…”

Edinson bites down on his lower lip and says nothing.

“…or just continue working yourself down to nothing,” Martín huffs while he looks out the window from the passenger seat. “burning the candle at both ends and fuck everything up that you’ve got going for you. Like last time.”

Edinson stops at a red light and looks straight ahead of him, watching the morning crowd crossing the street.

“I can take care of myself you know. Really. I can handle it.”

Martín turns his head to look at Edinson. Their eyes meet and Edinson smiles before he shakes his head, turning back to look ahead of him. Waiting for the lights to change.

“I’ll get by. I always have.”

“Well if it isn’t the South American John Lennon…this station hasn’t played Cerati in a hot minute.” Martín turns up the dial to the music blasting from the radio.

_Tanto pediste retener_

_Ese momento de placer_

_Antes de que sea tarde_

“Don’t let my old man hear you call him that.” Edinson temporarily withdraws his hand from the wheel to scratch the side of his face. “He loves The Beatles—he made me and my brothers listen to them when we were young. But Cerati…that man is in a category all his own.”

“Not to bring up something that’s upsetting…but have you tried to patch things up with your old man?” Martín presses, “I just think it would—”

“You don’t know the half of it when it comes to my father,” Edi interrupts Martín. He pauses briefly, as if searching for the right words, “I’ve tried to reach out to him. I’ve sent him handwritten letters for his birthday, for the holidays…and he returns them. Unopened.” He shrugs dismissively. “I’m dead to him. The past five years? I’ve _tried_ to put a dent in that wall of silence he’s put up between us. My brother’s even tried talking sense into him. Telling him how inflexible he is. How I’m not the same person anymore. I have my own practice. I have a steady boyfriend.” Edinson turns to look at Martín, the corner of his lips tugging upwards into a sad smile, “Nothing.”

Martín inflates his cheeks, exhaling slowly as his eyes dart nervously. It’s just them, and Gustavo Cerati’s _Déjà Vu_ on the radio.

“Fuck, man. I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Martín shakes his head, “I know this is easier said than done…but there’s a reason why they say that friends are the family we choose. I’ve worked with cases where former addicts have been disowned by their families. And they’ve built their own families…their own support system, and now they’re thriving.” He grins, tilting his head on the headrest to look at Edinson, focused on the road ahead of them, “At least you’ve got Diego. You’re going to be part of his family now.”

Edinson just pulls his lips in and says nothing for the next few stretches of road ahead of them. Martín knows these silent pauses well. He searches for something to say, just before he gets dropped off, but nothing outstanding comes to mind.

“You’ve got me. You’ve got people that care about you, man.”

_It’s also the people closest to you that hurt you the most_. Edi thinks to himself. He adores Martín, he loves him as a long-time friend—but since he’s decided to pursue a career in counseling, it seems that he often forgets to relate to him as just a friend.

He isn’t always looking for his problems to be fixed. He isn’t always looking for advice. He knows Martín means well—but today, he’s in no mood to take advice from anyone or open up about his problems relating to the most intimate parts of his life. “Is this corner good?” Edinson asks Martín, tilting his head to observe him nod, and pulls up to the curb in front of the shop.

Martín hurriedly undoes his seatbelt and addresses Edi, “My man—I owe you one.” Martín leans in and pulls Edinson toward him in a tight embrace, “Remember what I told you,” he waves his finger at him before he shuts the door to his car. “Take it _easy_.”

Edinson smiles, looking back at Martín through the window as he’s mouthing, “See you tomorrow at the gym.”

_Tanto pediste retener_

_Ese momento de placer_

_Antes de que sea tarde_

_Vuelve la misma sensación_

_Esta canción ya se escribió_

_Un mínimo detalle que cambió_

He stays put on the curb for just a few minutes, listening to the song. He needs a minute to himself, because it all feels like it’s just too much all at once. The bruises impressed on him hours earlier from Diego’s love, yet to darken. Unremitting reminders of Diego’s hand around his heart. Pressing hard on the chambers when they try to expand.

Diego swore to him that morning that he loves him, but he doesn’t know if he believes it anymore. For the first time in the four years they’ve been lovers, he can’t bring himself to believe it.

His chest feels tight, and it hurts to breathe. It’s keeping him from crying, and he doesn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved by this.

He focuses on the burn he feels on his shoulders and arms from working out with Martín. On his agenda for the day. He takes a sharp intake of breath and he pulls out of the curb, driving away.

☼

At the office, Edinson arrives just before 9 hours. There’s a lot he has to get done before the afternoon. His secretary isn’t in yet, so he gets a head start, checking his voicemail messages. The usual. Promotions which he readily deletes and inquiries for legal advice. He jots down the names and numbers from potential clients to forward to his secretary for follow up.

He's walking over to place the call back list on his secretary’s desk when he notices that Lautaro, his paralegal assistant, is in early. He steps into his office to greet him.

“I was looking at what’s on today’s agenda,” Lautaro sits up in his chair before Edinson even has the chance to say anything.

“Edinson nods. “I want you to know I mailed out my letter of recommendation for that scholarship earlier today.”

“Thanks,” Latuaro nods, “I really appreciate it.”

“Remind me what year are you in?” Edinson asks while he pulls up a chair to sit beside him.

“After this year, I’m eligible to take my exams for licensure.” Lautaro smiles, making direct eye contact.

“Unbelievable isn’t it? To think you’ve been with us from the start as just an office assistant.” Edinson taps Lautaro’s forearm.

Lautaro lowers his eyes and smiles, the corners of his lips tugging downwards—like he’s a little embarrassed for how proud he’s feeling right now that he wants to rein it back just a little.

“So this week, I want you to mainly focus on doing some research,” Edinson begins, “I want you to look up relevant criminal cases from the past 30 years involving either the serious physical injury or murder of a federal officer.”

“This is in connection to the Paredes case, right?” Lautaro pivots back on his chair clicking on his pen nervously.

Edinson nods.

“Has a date been set for the trial?” Lautaro reaches for the nearest legal pad on his desk and begins jotting down his own notes.

“Depending on how successful the voir dire for the witnesses and juror selection goes, the expected date should be in late May.” Edinson rises from his seat and returns the chair to its place, “Justice Sampaoli is presiding over the case.”

“Yeah, I heard he’s an old head. Still has an antiquated approach…”

“He’s conservative,” Edinson looks back at Lautaro, “which means our work has to be nothing short of impeccable and by the book.”

Lautaro doodles nervously on the margins of his legal pad. “You’re meeting with Paulo—the sole eyewitness today, right?”

Edinson looks out the window through the blinders. “Yes,” he responds while he focuses on the obelisk from the Plaza de la República from a distance. A slow intake of breath. “His testimony is critical, and we’ll find out after today whether we have a wild card in our hands.”

☼

As a general rule, Edinson tries to not generate expectations about the people he encounters within the line of his work. It makes his job easier when he’s able to see people for who they are with no preconceptions. He can adapt to their personality and modify his approach accordingly. For laconic clients, he does most of the talking—asking the precise questions to keep conversation going. For more loquacious clients, he mostly listens and usually interjects to steer the conversation in a way that is productive. Perhaps most importantly, during initial meetings, he usually tries to find common ground. Something they share in common to build rapport.

Somehow, he breaks this rule with Paulo Dybala.

He unwittingly develops a cursory impression from the little he’s learned about him from his files. Paulo’s only slightly older than his cousin Leandro, and he’s fairly accomplished. His credentials show he graduated summa cum laude in economics from La Universidad Nacional de Córdoba, so he had to be incredibly studious and disciplined. He abandoned the provincial countryside for a full-time position at the National Bank headquarters of CABA, so he guesses Paulo must be shy and deferential. Nothing like the local _Porteños_.

Whatever image he conjured of Paulo, the young man is nothing like what Edinson imagined him to be. On the contrary—Paulo maintained a certain elusiveness to him—making him difficult to assess. Just when he thinks Paulo has an outgoing personality, he has to change his mind when in one moment to the next, Paulo’s spirit darkens and is minimally engaged in conversation between him and Dr. Tabárez.

“Well then. I will leave the two of you to discuss business matters.” Dr. Tabárez hums as he excuses himself. “A good rest of the day, gentlemen.”

Edinson nods, rising from his seat, extending his hand in a farewell gesture. “Thank you for coming, _Doctor_.”

“Chau Doc,” Paulo embraces him, “I’ll see you soon.”

Edinson looks on, noting how Paulo clung onto Dr. Tabárez. How he buries his face into the crook of his shoulder, shutting his eyes. How Dr. Tabárez pats the side of Paulo’s face affectionally and smiles before he adjusts his jacket and leaves.

Edinson walks over to close the door to his office before he addresses Paulo.

“Paulo…I’ve read over your testimony in the police report, and I have several questions—”

“I’m sorry—” Paulo interrupts, “please don’t take this the wrong way. You’re doing your job and all—but this has been a non-stop nightmare for me.” he looks down at his shoes and adjusts his socks in a nervous gesture, “I just wish we could go back in time.” He sits up, eyes lowered, and eyebrows pushed into a deep frown.

“I—I _understand_.” Edinson responds in a quietly, keeping the tone neutral.

“Do you really understand?” Paulo’s eyes shoot up, flashing a menacing glare, “Do you have any idea what life’s been like for me? Or is that what they train you to say?” Paulo raises his arms out on the armrests. He swipes his tongue over his lips, and for a moment an expression of regret flashes over his face. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to…” he hangs his head forward and sighs, “I’m just _tired_.” He looks up making direct eye contact, “This is the third time this month I’ve had to take off from work to deal with this. There’s talk I might even be charged by the law for acting in concert and not doing enough to stop my cousin from killing that pig of an officer.”

“Paulo, I am sure this is a great inconvenience to you…and I appreciate you being here. For _Leandro_.” Edinson leans forward, eyes scanning Paulo’s face, noticing how his face flushes briefly before he looks away. “Before we get started...I just want to outline the next steps.”

Paulo presses his lips, turning to face him, giving a slight forward nod.

“You’ll have to present yourself before Justice Sampaoli next week, where you’ll undergo questioning by the prosecution and myself to determine if your testimony as eyewitness has any validity. If it doesn’t—then you will _not_ be required to testify at court. This is a legal process known as _voir dire_.”

Edinson pauses to give Paulo a minute.

“I read over your report to the police,” Edinson lowers his eyes to scan his personal notes, “It’s got sufficient details—you list time stamps that correspond to a specific sequence of events leading up to Inspector López’s death—”

“I hope that son of a bitch rots in hell.” Paulo seethes, “if there is such a thing as hell.”

Edinson looks up and locks eyes with Paulo. He sees a hardness in his gaze he hasn’t seen before. He continues speaking,

“I was hoping you could tell me more about him, Paulo. Why was he alone with you in the apartment? What did he say to you? And at what point did Leandro step in?”

“López? That man had a fucking _hard-on_ for my cousin. He was out to get him. I mean to the point it became _harassment_.”

“Did you document these incidents of harassment with the police?” Edinson follows up, clicking his pen.

Paulo leans forward and shakes his head.

“Why bother? Look, I don’t think you know how fucking _corrupt_ the Buenos Aires police are.”

Edinson blinks rapidly and puts his pen down. He takes a breath before responding to Paulo.

“I am very much aware of the level of corruption in the police corps.” He leans back into his chair, “In fact, that’s my job as a public defender. To protect ordinary citizens like yourself—like Leandro—from falling prey to unscrupulous tactics by the police.” Edinson pauses. “Not everyone who wears the shield of the law acts in accordance to the law, Paulo. I’ve experienced this firsthand.”

Edinson clears his throat and leans forward.

“I went to prison when I was Leandro’s age...just for being with the wrong company. A cop tricked me to confessing something I never did.”

Edinson rises from his seat and removes his suit jacket. He pulls out the hems of shirt from his pants and unbuttons the last three buttons and raises his shirt, flashing a scar.

“My first month there, I was stabbed.” He runs his finger over the scar on his abdomen. “I nearly bled to death because a correctional officer didn’t want to report the incident occurred under his watch.”

Paulo looks on, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

“I wish I could tell you this was the worst that I’ve experienced.” Edinson shrugs placidly. “My point is…I’m not here to argue with you, Paulo…I’m on your side. On Leandro’s side.”

Edinson wasn’t ready to see Paulo break down, throwing his hands up in a flash of anger before he brings them to cover up his face, voice garbling something incomprehensible before it cracks into a sob. It’s a cry that tugs on Edinson’s heart seams, unraveling something inside him to the point he can’t sit and watch with professional restraint. Edinson pushes his chair out and walks over to Paulo, who leans against him, dropping his arms before he pushes his face into his shoulder.

“He threatened me.” Paulo’s voice spirals into uncontrollable heights. “Bitch motherfucker threatened to charge me with conspiring to help Leandro _launder_ money. He said he had proof of it too. That a former friend of ours ratted us out for a plea bargain.”

Edinson feels a pit of angst expand and he runs a hand over Paulo’s head.

“I told him to leave us the fuck _alone_ already…” Paulo’s breath shudders in a series of hiccup sobs before he pulls back, face bright red, streaked, dark eyelashes coated with tears. He runs the back of his hand under his nose, that catches clear snot. His eyes shutter open, looking ahead of him, while avoiding eye contact.

“He had a gun to my head. Was going to force a fake confession out of me.”

Edinson lowers his eyes and clenches his jaw.

“Then Leandro came in…and smashed a vase over his head,” Paulo sucks in a deep breath, voice shuddering before stepping down into a whisper “and strangled him.” Paulo runs the palms of his hands over his face, “We were both going to go to prison for something we never did.” When Paulo pulls back and lifts his eyes to meet Edi’s, his green eyes look more pale than before.

A silent pause follows as Paulo tries to steady himself.

“And now…I feel like we _both_ might end up getting punished anyway. I’m afraid no one is going to believe us. Especially if they got Mauro—who used to be our _friend_—to testify against us. They’re forcing him to lie to convict us.” Paulo chokes back a sob and squeezes his eyes shut before he adds in a barely coherent mumble, “I don’t know what good my testimony will do. It’s my word against Mauro’s and whatever the DA put together. I feel like I’m wasting my time…because no matter what…we’re _fucked_. And you know it.”

Paulo falls back on his chair and Edinson drops to his knees to be at eye level with him.

“Paulo…I understand the shame you may feel…and your concerns are valid. Having to disclose what you just told me in front of a lot of people who don’t even know you and are already primed to not believe you is not easy.” Edinson’s eyes scan Paulo’s face, searching to meet his eyes that firmly avoid him, “But your testimony could save your cousin.”

Edinson brings his hand to the back of Paulo’s neck and draws him close before he adds, “You’ve got to have faith until the very last moment that there’s hope we can overturn this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 8 January, I added 584 more words. I've altered a bit of the narrative without it having significant impacts such as the change the plot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a holiday. So. I took the liberty of finishing up this chapter. Only because the free time permitted it. I honestly have no idea when I'll find time to write and develop ideas until a few months out from now. But enjoy this bit I've managed to write.

The meeting with Paulo concludes after two hours, and Edinson is exhausted beyond belief.

Shortly after Paulo leaves, he fleshes out the perfunctory notes he’s made for himself into more detailed notes to reference and mull over with more thoughtful care. A law professor once gave him a bit of practical advice:

_“Part of being successful in your work with clients is to be emotionally present. Listen to them. When you’re too busy taking down detailed notes, it’s as if what they tell you goes in one ear and out the other. It’s important for you to listen to them. Then—only after they’ve walked out your door—you take detailed notes.”_

One thing was certain for sure. Paulo was a landmine. He’s sure he’d need some time to process everything they’ve discussed. The verdict as to whether Leandro would be convicted or spared depended a great deal on Paulo’s testimony.

If he was going to be examined and cross-examined next week to determine whether he’d be a suitable witness—Edinson was sure that Luis Suárez would do everything to get him discredited. Paulo had information that could substantially weaken what the prosecution wanted the jury’s perception on both Leandro and Maxi López to be.

Edinson steps out of his office and signals to Lautaro.

“What happened to your shirt?” Lautaro’s eyes widen, and Edinson makes a dismissive gesture.

“When you become a lawyer, sometimes you’ll have to play several roles outside of what you’ve been trained for.” He keeps his voice low as he looks at Lautaro earnestly, the lines across his forehead creasing as he raises his eyebrows. “Today I had to play therapist.”

Lautaro looks down as he nods and Edinson presses his lips into a tight smile. A moment of silence lapses between them.

“I’m falling behind in preparation for next week, so I’m going to bunker down.” Edinson scratches the side of his face, “I’m cancelling my engagements for tomorrow. I’m heading out early and I won’t be in tomorrow.”

“Got it.” Lautaro nods, “Do you want me to email you the summary of what you asked me to work on?”

Edinson pulls his lips in and gives him a quick nod.

“I’ll email you to schedule a time to call you later this week. If you can have the summary finished by Thursday, that would be _ideal_.”

“You got it boss.” Lautaro affirmatively. “If you want, I can call to cancel your appointments tomorrow.” His black eyes strain.

“Thanks.” Edinson flashes him a smile. “Remember to put in any overtime work on your time sheet.” He says as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and heads back into his office.

He’s grateful he keeps spare clothes in his office. He’s in such a haste that leaves the door half-opened as he slides off his shirt and removes the undershirt. He rummages through his closet and yanks out a t-shirt.

Perhaps it’s due to the fact he’s been sedentary for the past couple of hours that he’s really feeling the soreness and the tension stored in his body. It makes him think of last night and of Diego in a way that makes him uneasy. He reaches for his phone in his dress pants and composes a text to Martín.

_ Tincho, any chance I can crash_

_ over your place?_

_ Just for a couple of days?_

Edinson sets his phone down against his desk and slips on his t-shirt. He figures it’s worth a shot asking for a place where he could stay and work completely unbothered for a couple of days. If Martín said no, he’d pay for a hotel room.

He needs the headspace.

He’s got far too much in his hands right now to think about or deal with Diego. Court deadlines were inflexible. Their personal mess could wait a few days.

He runs his hand through his hair to rearrange it and picks up his phone, glancing at the screen.

_There’s a spare key under the_

_flowerpot by the window._

_I’m holding a Narcóticos Anónimos _

_meeting this evening._

_I won’t be in until 22 hrs._

_There’s beer in the fridge. _

_Make yourself at home._

☼

Edinson reaches for a _Quilmes_ beer and pops the cap open. He’s walking back to Martín’s living room and is almost ready to sit down to review his notes—from his first meeting with Leandro and then with those of Paulo’s. But he’s got to take care of a few things beforehand.

He takes a seat on the living room sofa and calls Diego, secretly hoping it would go to voicemail.

“Edi—” Diego picks up “Give me a minute.”

Edinson strains his hearing to make out the background. He hears Diego’s muffled voice in conversation with someone. He reclines and takes a sip of his beer thinking he’d stay on the line for no longer than a minute before hanging up and then texting him to let him know he wouldn’t be coming home for a couple of days.

“Edi, is everything alright?” Diego comes back on the line, with a tone of manufactured empathy. An artifact of his clinical training.

“Diego, I’m not coming home for the next two days.” Edinson speaks emphatically. Like he wasn’t going to negotiate this.

“Well, I think that’s a little over-dramatic, don’t you? Just come home tonight and we’ll—”

“It’s got nothing to do with us.” Edinson cuts him off, “I’m behind work. I just need to bunker down and catch up with a few things for a client.”

He can hear Diego take a sharp intake of breath on the other line before he speaks,

“But you can perfectly work from your suite at home—Edi, I don’t understand—just…come home tonight.” Diego speaks, voice lowered.

Edinson wants to sigh, but he holds back his annoyance.

“Diego, I need a space where I can work with no _interruptions_.” He says ‘interruptions’ like it’s a loaded word—stretching it to include everything about their home life and the way they’ve been relating to each other that’s been distressful lately. “I’m not coming home for the next two days.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence and Edinson starts to drum his fingers on his beer bottle.

“Where will you be staying, my love?” Diego responds. There’s something about hearing Diego refer to him as “my love” that makes Edinson gasp, as if he’s been unexpectedly pricked by something.

“At a friend’s. At _Tincho’s_” Edi responds briskly before taking a sip of his beer. He braces himself for an earful.

Diego never had the highest opinion of Martín. He always held it against him that he was a former drug addict. It didn’t matter that Martín managed to overcome his addiction, eventually becoming a substance abuse counselor and volunteering his time counseling youth in the _Villas_ of Buenos Aires. Martín, for all of his faults, had a heart of gold. Something Edinson always loved about him. Diego, however, wouldn’t let people part with their pasts, judging them for their slightest faults and mishaps.

“Why are you doing this to me, Edi?” Diego responds.

Edinson ends the call and takes a generous sip of his beer. He stews silently for a few moments before he picks up his phone again and sets it to ‘do not disturb’ mode before tossing it despectively across the couch. He was not going to let Diego make him feel guilty for doing what he needed to do, especially when he hadn’t even apologized for the way he he’s been treating him lately. _Diego’s a grown man_. Edinson thinks to himself. _He can deal with this_.

He reaches for the remote control and switches on the television. He flips through the channels until he sees a football match. Cruzeiro versus Boca Juniors in the group stage for the Copa Libertadores. He lowers the volume to a level where it’s comfortable background noise and he sighs.

_I should have been a footballer_. He thinks to himself before he sits back up and reaches for his laptop and a couple of legal pads.

He decides he’ll start reviewing his notes from his visit to see Leandro:

☼

“Mauro was…kind of like an older brother figure to a lot of us at Villa 21.” Leandro runs the palms of his hands over the table, as if he was trying to map something out. “He was…a little touched,” he taps his index finger over his temple and laughs shortly, “a little nuts…but a _good_ guy. Fun to be around, though we knew he was into shady stuff…”

Edinson keeps his eyes on him, leaning forward and Leandro’s eyes dart nervously before looking down at his both his hands flat on the table, chewing on the inside of his cheek. A common nervous habit of his.

“I mean…most if not all of us were involved with some kind of shit like that,” Leandro shrugs, “Sometimes we did bad things to survive. I look back at it now and I’m not proud of some of the things I did…but it was necessary.”

Edinson nods in a gesture of understanding.

“A close friend of mine volunteers weekly at the _villas_, and we discuss the kinds of pressures young people face. I appreciate your honesty…and I don’t judge you.” Edinson’s eyes narrow in a pained expression.

“As I was saying,” Leandro jumps in quickly to move away from the topic, “Mauro worked briefly for some drug lord. _El Cholo_, we called him. He had connections with the Chileans and most of the _palos verdes_ they’ve made were from smuggling coke to Europe.”

Edinson was already familiar with the politics surrounding the villas of Buenos Aires. Since Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner assumed the presidency, she boasted a massive decline across a number of crimes—particularly in rapes, thefts and murders. However, this was because no statistics were ever collected from the villas. If you were poor, you were brushed aside to the margins where you made your dwelling in these a quasi-industrial, quasi-rural slums where there was no governance. Drug lords knew this and often used the villas as production sites to manufacture and process all classes of narcotics, from marijuana, to coke to _paco_—the poor man’s cocaine. Children were sometimes hired as distributors. The business was ruthless and no one cared about the lives they were ruining.

“Mauro was tall and skinny and fast.” Leandro continues, “And he had this face. This saintly face you just couldn’t imagine him being involved in this shit. El Cholo loved him. Like a _son_.”

Edinson reaches for his glass to sip on his water while he continues to listen.

“One time, El Cholo defaulted on a payment, and the Chileans were starting to get past the point of just flexing for show. El Cholo started adding pressure to all his distributors who worked for him to pay up—and to pay up _fast_.” Leandro lets out a short laugh, “Mauro, that son of a bitch, got himself into a steaming pile of shit because he’s used up some of that money to spend on a diamond necklace to impress this hot, older, married _cheta_ he was fucking.”

Edinson almost chokes on his water but he catches himself. He wasn’t expecting the story to take on such a twist.

“El Cholo put out his own fucking money to save Mauro’s _pellejo_…but made it clear that if he didn’t cough up what he owed him in a month, then he’d put a hit on him, his lady friend and then sell her diamond necklace to get back his money.”

Leandro pauses briefly and runs the tip of his tongue over his busted lower lip.

“None of us had any idea how Mauro was able to bag a girlfriend like that.” He says flatly before he shifts his eyes to look at Edinson, “You’re familiar with the concept of a sugar daddy, right? Well, this woman…I’m pretty sure her name was Wanda…she was kind of like a sugar mama. Not only did he get to fuck her. She was blowing money on him too.”

Edinson laughs nervously and feels the blood rushing to his face. He’s glad that his light olive complexion hides a mild blush.

Diego and he sort of had implicitly settled into this kind relationship when they first met. Edinson doesn’t like to admit that this is how he and Diego’s relationship began. Out of convenience and self-serving interests rather than love. But that’s what it was at the time. He found Diego through a listing on a dating site where he stated he was looking for someone to provide him with consistent, energetic sex at short moment’s notice. Edinson had already been prostituting for several months now, and he was able to look past the fact that many of his clients were married men, or recently single or divorced and looking for a distraction. He didn’t moralize the fact that he was enabling bouts of infidelity. He just saw a business opportunity. In the listing, Diego hadn’t provided any self-identifying features, but the fact he listed he wanted something “consistent” insinuated he was looking for a long-term sexual relationship. In their initial contacts via messaging, Diego assured him that he would be adequately compensated. It seemed too good to be true. Edinson had found a potential match that would mean he’d no longer have to look for other dates to pull in his income. He’d be one man’s whore for the foreseeable future until one or the other would decide to call it quits.

On their first date, he learns Diego’s maternal family line were _Corazos_. A traditional family that came from old money. They owned several estates. Diego never knew what it was like to worry about money. Doing his residency means he had no time to cultivate a meaningful relationship. Random hookups were not enough to satiate his specific needs, and he promised Edi he’d be taken care of if he agreed to provide him with whatever sex he wanted. For Edi, who was a public defender barely scraping by living in an apartment complex with his ex, Luis Suárez—it seemed like more than a fair arrangement.

This was short lived. Edinson developed feelings for Diego, and he sensed that perhaps Diego felt something more than just lust for him. Diego confessed that he found it attractive that he wasn’t just another “dumb whore,” as he put it—but that he had ambition and personal projects. The terms of engagement changed. What started out as a transactional relationship became a romantic connection. They saw each other because they wanted to. Not because they needed something from each other. Edi moved out and got his own place, making a clean break with Luis. He quit prostituting. He could not live with a certain dignity and freedom he had given up for sometime to survive.

If there was anyone who understood what leads people to do things they’d never imagined themselves doing out of necessity coupled with fear—it was him. For this reason—he doesn’t judge Leandro.

“And this…_this_ is where shit gets _twisted_.” Leandro taps his hand against the table, “Wanda was working as the secretary for the Vice President of the International Banking sector at Banco de La Nación Argentina. When she found out the shit Mauro was in, instead of offering to give back her necklace, she offered to help set up the bank for us to rob. Mauro swore they had worked out all the details.”

“She was in it for the thrill—_interesting_.” Edinson raises his eyebrows in a flash of surprise.

He thinks to himself that Wanda, as the secretary to one of the higher ups, she knew every pulse point where she could press within that system. The whole scenario served as a reminder of why it pays to be very careful with whom one hired to work as one's right hand. You were basically giving them access to all the ways you and all of your work could be ruined. Secretaries saw their bosses at their most vulnerable, and needed to develop ways to read their mind. Give them what they needed before they even asked for it. Someone like Wanda would be astute to make him develop such dependence on her, that she could later leverage to her advantage.

“Yeah—I guess.” Leandro nods, his bottom lip jutting out in a quasi-pensive manner before he continues, “She could wipe her hands clean, even though she was in on the heist…and we would just take what Mauro needed to pay back El Cholo, plus a bonus to pay ourselves for the work to hold the bank down.”

Leandro brings his hand over his head, scratching a spot briefly in a nervous gesture as he grimaces.

“It ended up backfiring. What none of us knew…was that Wanda was married to that _rati_ sonofabitch López. He had to have found out about Wanda’s cheating on him. In court, they tried to make it look like she was being blackmailed by Mauro—a _joke_ because we all knew she was fucking Mauro for fun. I learned much later that he called in favors and had undercover _ratis_ get intel on her and that’s how that entire precinct also found out about the staged robbery. We had just finished our work when we were ambushed in our meeting spot in Villa 21. Shots were fired. Wanda ended up getting hit. Some say she died on her way to the hospital. Others say that she was killed by López. On _purpose_. And then, on trial, the prosecution tried to make it look like we were responsible for killing the love of his life.”

Edinson scribbles brief notes on the margins of his legal pad and quickly looks back up.

“You know the rest. You read my arrest record. I got 12 years for that joke gone bad, and served 9 years.” Leandro shrugs and lowers his eyes.

Edinson flips over a page and makes a few notes before he looks back up at Leandro, bleary eyed and tired.

“In prison, the first year was tough.” Leandro mutters, reaching for his empty glass. “The schedule. The fights. The rules nobody tells you about that you have to figure out on your own. Who you can and _can’t_ trust.”

Edinson reaches across the table and refills Leandro’s glass.

“Thanks.” Leandro mumbles curtly, “Some had the mindset that you either fucked people over or you got fucked over. You had to train yourself to sleep with one eye open.” Leandro blinks one eye shut and laughs nervously before pausing to sip on his water.

“You were in prison.” Leandro waves his hand, signaling to Edinson, “You know what it’s like. Being afraid that they’re gonna bust your ass open until it happens and then you realize it’s not the worst thing that can happen.”

Edinson lowers his eyes. The first time he was penetrated was in prison. And it wasn’t by his fellow inmates as he often feared, but by a couple of prison guards who took over the night shift. It’s what prompted him to craft a makeshift blade he could use to defend himself. Which ironically, was the same weapon used to stab him the second time the same guards entered his cell to amuse themselves at his expense. After that incident, however, they never came back.

Edinson wants to nod. To say something to the effect that he knows what it’s like, but this is something that he’s never been able to tell anyone. He just raises his eyes to meet Leandro’s and there’s something about the way he looks back at him makes him feel exposed. Like Leandro was able to see through his stoic expression and just know. He quickly looks away, focusing on his legal pad, tapping his pen on the margins as if unsure whether he should make a note for him to go back review. Leandro continues speaking.

“Eventually I settled into the routine. We learned woodworking, mechanics, painting…writing. I had the option to take classes and earn my diploma too. I also saw a therapist once a week.”

Leandro pauses briefly and then something about his expression darkens.

“I don’t know if this is of any use to you…but I had a girlfriend…she visited me for the first few months and then she stopped seeing me. We broke up because she didn’t want to wait, and it fucked me up for a while. I didn’t want to eat or do anything. That’s when they introduced me to El Doc.”

The corner of Edinson’s lips tug into a shadow of a smile. More than anything, it’s more of a condolent smile.

“I was in prison for making a mistake. I trusted the wrong people and I let myself get sucked into a mess that wasn’t mine. I’d be free. Fuck—I wouldn’t even be here talking to you if I had just said no.”

Leandro looks away and pauses to chew on the inside of his cheek.

“Back then…El Doc would tell me constantly…I made a decision with consequences that I now have to live with my whole life. And how could I expect anyone to give me a second chance if I wasn’t willing to forgive myself?”

“So that’s what I did.”

☼

Edinson puts down his notes and rubs his eyes. He’s so focused on his work that he’s completely forgotten to eat. He’s thinking of stepping out briefly to get something when he hears the door to Martín’s flat being opened. Could it be 22 hrs already? Edinson grabs his phone and checks the time: 22:07

“Eu! Tanto tiempo que no nos vemos, loco.” Martín flashes him a tired smile and quickly slips out of his jacket. “Did you eat yet?” he asks and then quickly raises a brown paper bag, “The old ladies who volunteer at the center made _polenta _with sausage and cheese. I took some to go.”

Edinson flashes him a genuine smile and rises from where he’s sitting. He raises his arms overhead to stretch before he walks over and clasps Martín’s hand and pulls him into a half embrace, running the palm of his hand over his back. Martín’s arms encircle his waist and they tighten as he picks Edinson up.

“I like your look.” Martín teases. “Are you trying to start a trend?” he asks after he sets him down.

Edi scans his outfit and laughs at his overall appearance. He is wearing a mickey mouse shirt over dress pants. The epitome of ridiculous.

“Thanks for letting me stay here.” Edinson scratches his arm and fights back a yawn.

“That’s what I meant to ask, fool—Why are you here? Did you fight with the boyfriend again?” Martín addresses him as he pulls out the container of polenta and empties his serving onto a large plate. “I’m so fucking hungry, I’m just going to eat this shit cold. You can warm yours up if you want.”

“You can eat polenta either way. I’ll just eat it cold.” Edinson picks up the container and takes the fork Martín hands to him. “Thanks.”

“Shall we?” Martín gestures with his head, suggesting they sit down to eat by the living room sofa.

Edinson rushes to close his laptop and set his work notebooks aside. He picks up his phone and glances at the screen. He sees an email from Lautaro which he will check later in the evening, and several texts from Diego, which he decides he won’t respond to.

“I got into an argument with Diego this morning, but the real reason I’m here is because I really need a work space where I can bunker down and work uninterrupted. Something I can’t do with Diego lately. He’s been…unusually jealous? I’m not even sure if that’s the right word.”

“So is that why you were spacing out this morning?” Martín lets out a low laugh, “Not because Diego fucked your brains out?”

Edinson grins and smacks Martín’s forearm with the back of his hand. It just wasn’t in his style to discuss his sex life. Martín liked talking about his conquests. He always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak to him and didn’t have any serious hang ups around sex.

They eat quickly in silence. The polenta is every bit delicious and neither of them leave any of it on their plate. Edinson offers to wash the dishes and towel dry them. It’s the least he can do.

“If you want to sleep, you can share the bed with me, or just sleep out here.” Martín calls out to Edi as he reclines on the sofa. “The bed’s way more comfy, obviously. If you’re worried about waking me up—I sleep through anything, so don’t you worry about waking me up.”

“I might not even sleep tonight, to be honest.” Edinson calls out as he’s drying the dishes. “I might take an hour nap. We’ll see how I feel.” He sighs as he walks back into the living room.

Martín has already removed his shirt and was flipping through the television channels before he decides to turn it off.

“How was your day? Talk to me about your stuff. It’s probably infinitely more interesting than the shit on TV right now” Martín mutters as he flexes to sit up and give Edinson room to sit beside him.

Edinson doesn’t discuss Leandro’s case beyond what’s allowed. But he does discuss the unbelievable story between Mauro, Wanda and López with Martín, who’s shaking his head at the sheer madness of it all.

“Shit, Edi. I don’t know what to tell you man. It sounds like the only thing López cared about was protecting his image. Wanda’s affair made him look like someone who’s sexually frustrated and it humiliated him. You know? People probably were talking. Is his dick not working? What’s his 25 year old wife doing with a 16 year old? That’s a separate issue right there. Some really taboo _Y Tu Mama También_ shit.”

Martin scrunches his face pensively and he covers his eyes with his hand briefly.

“I mean…it doesn’t make _sense_. This snot nosed teenage brat Mauro buys his wife a diamond necklace and López doesn’t ask his wife where he got it from? You know what I think? And I see this all the time, Edi.” Martín gestures wildly with his hands, “López is probably a closeted sexual deviant. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had Wanda as a cover up, and it all blew up in his face when word started getting out that she was having an affair with this punk Mauro.”

Edinson stays silent for a few moments before he taps Martín’s shoulder. “Pass me that legal pad. The one on top of my laptop?”

Martín makes the reach and hands it over to Edinson, who eagerly flips through it in search of some notes from bits of dialogue he had transcribed from his earlier meeting with Paulo:

_López was a deviant. He liked fucking pibes. He had a type too. In the villas, where Leandro lived, they're mostly all dark…like…he wouldn’t have gone after guys like you, for instance. He’d go after boys like my cousin. They’d get paid extra to put on women’s lace underwear and do other weird shit like that._

_“Do you know if your cousin was ever propositioned by López?”_

_“I don't know…I want to say no, because...he wasn't the type...he didn’t hang out in those sectors looking for tíos to roll. I mean…they were poor, but not desperate, you know?”_

The paragraphs jump out at him and he makes the connection.

This was all about covering up López’s reputation all along. It was never about justice.

Edinson reaches for his pen and highlights the paragraphs and jots down additional notes on the margins. He sets it down and he immediately reaches to grab Martín to kiss the crown of his head.

Martín throws him a quizzical look. “Ummm…what did I do?”

Edinson gives him a tired smile.

“Sometimes the things you say are brilliant, Tincho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -9 January 2021, I've added 326 words, and flesh out a backstory in a way that's clearer.
> 
> I've included a lot of rioplatense slang:
> 
> villa - slum
> 
> pibe - kid/guy/dude
> 
> rati - cop
> 
> palo verde - 1 million US dollars
> 
> Quilmes is a popular Argentinian beer.
> 
> The CONMEBOL Libertadores Cup is the South American equivalent of the UEFA Champions League. I'm actually going to take this further and say it's probably the most prestigious title. South American clubs don't have the money or resources European clubs do. So it's all pure tactical creativity and grit. It's an absolute joy to watch. The match Edi's watching features Cruzeiro (a really big Brazilian club) and Boca Juniors (An Argentinian club).
> 
> The age of consent in Argentina is 15, so yes, such a relationship would be taboo, but not illegal. In the US, she would go to jail for statutory rape in some states where the legal age of consent is 18. I am not a fan of Wanda Icardi in the least. I think her relationship with Mauro Icardi has some exploitative elements, even though it's consensual. I'm not here to fight or argue, but that's just an observation I've made following their relationship. She knows how to maneuver him in a way that is to her benefit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sick for a week. During that recovery period, during the bouts I needed a distraction to focus on something else other than the pain, I worked on this chapter. Enjoy.

Edinson fiddles with his engagement band for a few seconds, sliding it off his finger halfway before setting it back. It feels strange. Just like the thought of getting married hasn’t settled as well as he thought it would. He slides his hand down to pull back his sleeve and glances at his watch—it’s two minutes until 10 hrs. He turns behind him, glancing at Paulo briefly. Paulo’s eyes are downcast, mouth twitching, and he can tell he’s nervous.

Edinson’s eyes skim over to the prosecution—to Luis, who’s gesturing to his assistant as they discuss whatever matters between them in hushed voices. Edinson runs a hand over his hair and decides it’s best to use the remaining minutes to compose himself. He’s done more than enough of the necessary work to be prepared. At least—in the matters he has control over—he is prepared. It’s the uncertainty over how matters might unfold that have him slightly on edge. _A little bit of nervousness is good_. He reminds himself as he sips on his water and turns to Lautaro, sitting beside him, his pen twirling between his fingers.

The goal was to get Paulo in as a key witness. Edinson was certain if Luis knew even half of what Paulo had discussed with him, he would do all he could to get him discredited. Paulo being discredited would mean less work for the prosecution to convince the jury that Leandro deserved the maximum punishment. All they would have to do is introduce Paulo’s police report into evidence. With the other troubling aspects of his testimony silenced, the jury would have no idea why Leandro was compelled to beat and strangle Chief Inspector López to death. This would hurt his chances of asking for a reduced sentence in lieu of the death penalty.

What dangled dangerously in Edinson’s awareness was Paulo’s temptation to get out of testifying. All Paulo had to do to get himself out of this bind was to lie under oath. Or admit his biases. Admit he was contemptuous of the court. That—after what happened with Leandro—he had lost respect for the law. That he harbored hatred or resentment towards the police—all of which, given Paulo’s precarious situation, were possible for him to answer affirmatively. Admitting to one or more of these would cast doubt on the veracity of his testimony and leave the court no choice but to bar him.

The gavel is hit, followed by the court marshal’s call for all to rise.

“The honorable Justice Jorge Sampaoli of the Supreme Court of Justice for the Nation.”

Justice Sampaoli enters the courtroom with an air of mild arrogance, the large, exaggerated sleeves of his gown flowing. He gesticulates with his mouth, as if he was trying to get rid of a bitter aftertaste as he took his seat.

After the completion of all formalities, Luis leans forward, eyebrows raised as if emphasizing his practiced earnesty before speaking,

“Your honor, I would like to call potential witness, Paulo Bruno Exequiel Dybala to the stand for questioning.”

Paulo comes fourth, eyebrows low set in a pensive furrow while pressing his lips tightly. He takes his seat by the stand, facing Justice Sampaoli who swears him in.

“Mr. Dybala—may I call you Paulo?” Luis addresses him with a quick glance before lowering his eyes to refer to his notes.

“Yes.” Paulo sighs.

“Please speak _louder_—so that the court can _hear_.” Justice Sampaoli interjects, giving Paulo an intimidating look.

Paulo nods eagerly as he leans into the microphone and pronounces a clear and audible “Yes.”

Luis rises and approaches the stand.

“Paulo, for the record, please state your age, where you currently live, and your occupation.”

“I’m 26, I live in Barrio Boca…and I work in International Banking, in the anti-money laundering and compliance department.” Paulo swipes his tongue hurriedly over his lips.

“Who’s your employer?”

“Banco de La Nacion Argentina.”

As Luis continues his line of questioning regarding Paulo’s profession, Edinson focuses on Paulo’s body language and facial expressions. He was calm and at ease. Answering very generic, routine questions for the court to have a sense of who he is. Justice Sampaoli sat back, looking disengaged, though Edinson knew well that he should not be fooled.

“Given your accent, you are not a native _Bonarense_, correct?” Luis asks.

“I’m from Córdoba…but I’ve been living in Buenos Aires for almost five years now.” Paulo responds.

Luis scratches the side of his face. “I see. Do you live with family or roommates?”

“At the moment, no.” Paulo grimaces.

“Paulo, can you state who were your past roommates and their professions since moving to Buenos Aires?”

“I roomed very briefly with a guitarist—_a musician_. Gonzalo Higuaín. He bought his own place and moved out. So, I sublet the space to Juan Cuadrado, a fine-arts student from Colombia doing an internship. When he left, my cousin, Leandro moved in with me.”

“That would be _defendant_ Leandro Paredes, is that correct?” Luis looks up, “I’m sorry, but the answer needs to be stated clearly for the record.”

“Yes, my _cousin_, Leandro Paredes.” Paulo affirms.

“What was Leandro’s occupation?”

“He was an electrician.”

“And before that—what was Leandro doing?”

Paulo pauses to clear his throat.

“You mean his occupation while he was at the penitentiary of Ezeiza? I’m not sure—”

“That was an ambiguous question,” Luis states flatly, “I just wanted you to state for the court that you are fully aware that defendant Paredes was a convicted felon serving time at Ezeiza.”

Edinson looks on with professional restraint. He can tell from the tension in Paulo’s jaw that he’s suppressing anger at this point. In a very subtle manner, Luis was provoking him. Edinson leans back into his seat, wishing he could signal to Paulo. To let him know that during the hearing, there was more to just questioning. Everyone was looking at his body language too. Looking for any visible signs of contempt, anger, or incongruence with what he was saying.

“Yes, I’m aware that my cousin is a convicted felon and had served time. In fact, shortly after he got out…I offered him my place to stay, because he had trouble finding housing.”

The corners of Luis’ lips turn upwards into a slight grin before he composes himself.

“Paulo, have you ever been convicted of a crime?”

“No.”

“What about any misdemeanors?”

“No.”

“Would you ever lie to protect any member of your family or friends who have committed a serious crime from facing justice?”

“If they committed a serious crime—no, I wouldn’t lie.”

Luis nods and presses his lips tightly. Edinson knows Luis tends to do this when he’s trying to keep a straight face.

“Paulo, are you familiar with Mauro Icardi?”

“Yes, he was a former friend of ours.”

“So then, do you deny ever having worked with Mauro Icardi as a client? Or having provided any consultation services to him?”

“I have never worked with him. Personally or professionally.” Paulo responds and bites down hard, clenching his jaw.

“Are you certain of this?” Luis presses, “Because Icardi’s testimony contradicts your statements. He has been offered a plea-bargain in exchange for his full cooperation with our office.” Luis pauses to allow Paulo to process what he just stated. “Remember that you are under oath.”

“I have _never_ worked with him under any capacity.” Paulo states once more.

Luis nods as he walks back to his table, gesturing to his aid to pass him a file. He thumbs it open and flips through hurriedly. From the distance, Edinson guesses that Luis has pulled out Paulo’s original police report protected by a plastic cover.

“Your honor, if I may do so, I wish to present the potential witness with the original police report he himself wrote.” Luis extends it over to Justice Sampaoli for inspection and approval.

Edinson brings his hand over his mouth, debating briefly whether he should interject. He quickly decides he should inspect it as part of his legal duty. He runs his tongue over his lips and speaks up:

“Your honor, the defense requests permission to view the document the potential witness in questioning is about to be presented with.”

Luis flashes a grimace, a fleeting gesture of annoyance and tilts his head towards Edinson.

“Cavani—my office provided you with a copy of this exact document two weeks ago. Can you state your reason to request inspection?”

Edinson makes himself smile to mask his annoyance before addressing Justice Sampaoli,

“Your honor, may I request a sidebar?”

Justice Sampaoli gestures for the both of them to approach his stand.

“Give you a reason? It is my legal duty to do so.” Edinson states flatly, keeping his voice down to a whisper.

Luis leans in, keeping his voice low but his irritation visible enough for Edinson to sense.

“I find your request insulting. It carries the implication that I may be presenting a document that differs from the one you’ve been shown beforehand.”

Edinson tucks his chin in slightly and pulls his lips in as he listens to Luis finish his piece.

“Edi—you’ve got some gall. To even think I or anyone else that is handling this case at the office of the District Attorney would even _do_ such a thing in a court of law. In fact—it’s a federal crime! You _know_ this!” Luis’ nostrils flare up noticeably before he purses his lips.

It’s an intimidation tactic. For sure. Edinson runs his tongue over his lips. While listening to Luis flex before him and Justice Sampaoli, he brings to his thoughts the mental image of the two of them fucking in an empty classroom as law students. It was easy to mentally knock Luis down by a few pegs when he pictures him on his back, red faced, sweaty and his fingernails digging into his midsection while _he_ rode him. Where it was _he_—not Luis—controlling the pace and the depth of penetration leaving him begging and gasping.

As lovers, Edinson found ways to gain control, even in his submission to him. The key to getting around Luis’ obsession for control was by making him believe he had the reins on everything.

Facing him in court would be no different. This argument here as a sidebar was no different.

Luis tried to stick something to him to get a reaction from him. Shake him up. Rattle him. To put him in a state where it was easy to manipulate him and make him feel like he was losing his footing. But Edinson was controlling just how much he’d allow Luis to get under his skin. He looks at Luis intently before he speaks.

“Luis—that wasn’t my intention at all. As Leandro’s attorney, I have a right to request to view all documentation that is being presented or introduced into evidence in a court of law. My request to view this document is not an indirect accusation of you or your office for the reasons you’ve stated.”

Luis looks down briefly, a flash of his attempt to hide his defeat before he looks back up again.

Justice Sampaoli gives a brisk nod while Luis hands over the police report.

Edinson has read it numerous times—he’s even memorized the misplaced idiosyncratic dots and ticks. His lips tug downwards in a slight frown, eyebrows raised as he inspects the original report.

“Thank you, Luis.” He responds with satisfaction as he hands the report back to him.

As he walks back to his seat, he can’t help but think—just for a moment—about each other. Who they used to be and what they’ve become now. They loved each other once, but they’ve also hurt each other a lot. There was always passion in how they loved, how they’d fuck but also how they’d fight. It was ironically their passion that eventually led to their dissolution. No matter how hard they’d say that they’d make it work, they’d fall back into their old patterns and combust.

“Carry on.” Sampaoli commands with mild indifference.

Luis approaches Paulo and displays the police report for him to inspect.

“Paulo, can you confirm for me that this is the police report you made the afternoon that Leandro Paredes murdered Chief Inspector López?”

Paulo extends his hand to receive the document and his eyes skim over it for a few moments and nods.

“Yes—I wrote this.”

“Do you agree with everything that you’ve written or is there anything that you recognize as inaccurate?”

“Everything I wrote here is true and accurate…to the best of my recollection.”

“Thank you,” Luis offers a curt gesture of appreciation as he takes back the police report from Paulo and hands it back to his aide for filing.

“Thank you, Paulo.” Luis offers a tight smile. “I have no further questions.”

As Luis takes his seat, Justice Sampaoli addresses Edinson, “Would the defense like to approach for questioning?”

Edinson sits upright and speaks into his microphone.

“Your honor, the defense has no need for questioning the potential witness.”

From the corner of his eye, Edinson can feel Luis’ eyes on him. It was possible that he had defied Luis’ expectations. Knowing his combative temperament, perhaps Luis was expecting a full counterattack. Edinson chooses to take this as a good sign. That Luis had no idea, or not even a fraction of an idea of what Paulo’s testimony could be. If all went well, Paulo’s story could put a serious dent into his case. The less the prosecution knew, the better.

Paulo is easily approved as a witness. They move onto questioning the expert witness—Dr. Luján Cardozo, an emergency room physician specializing in trauma which the prosecution had selected. Edinson had already reviewed Dr. Cardozo’s credentials, and sees no weaknesses in both her qualifications or character to even try to discredit her as an expert witness. He declines to question her when his turn came.

“So then, gentlemen—we will resume the hearing after a 1 hour break.” Justice Sampaoli announces. I expect everyone back by 13 hrs. If we continue at this pace and level of cooperation, hopefully we will get through all of our key witnesses by the end of today.

☼

“You’re breaking up—sorry reception here is terrible.” Edinson alerts Diego quickly while he quickly glances at the screen to look at how many service bars his phone is picking up.

“The National Academy of Medicine is having a gala dinner in honor of the chairman’s retirement.” Diego iterates.

“That’s nice—so I shouldn’t expect you home tomorrow then?” Edinson responds while signaling to Lautaro from a distance that he’d be with him soon. He was used to Diego attending all kinds of events, from conferences to symposia to charity dinners. For the most part, they kept their professional lives compartmentalized to the point where there was very little to no overlap.

“Actually I was wondering if you were free tomorrow evening…because I want you to attend as my date.” Diego speaks nonchalantly.

Edinson raises his eyebrows and his lips part briefly, slightly taken aback. Diego registers Edi’s silence as astonishment on his part and continues speaking.

“I know one of your main concerns is that you feel that I don’t listen to you. And Edi, my love, I always listen to what you say, even when you think I’m not. The night you told me that we’ve stopped doing things as a couple…I’ve been thinking about it, and I think this is a good opportunity to do something together.”

Edinson looks to the side peering out one of the large windows for a few seconds. He bites down on his lower lip while he turns away from Lautaro’s view. Diego’s comments were baffling sometimes and he just didn’t know how to respond. Diego had to have some stake or interest to ask him to accompany him to this gala. In the four years they’ve been together, Diego preferred to go unaccompanied to these kind of events. If they’ve attended any dinners, galas or benefits together, they were all around their first year. To argue with him now about his suspicions, would be pointless. He pulls his lips in to moisten them and responds,

“I’ll have to check to confirm my availability. It’s very last minute, Diego…and you know I’m working on this case…so I hope you understand if I’m unable to go.”

Edinson presses his lips tightly, waiting for Diego’s response.

“Do you remember our conversation? On the balcony?” Diego pauses briefly before he adds, “I promised you that things would be different between us.”

Edinson bites down hard on his lip.

“What I want you to see, Edi…is that I’m _trying_.”

☼

_Four days earlier_

Edinson sets down the box with all the files he has been working on and closes the door behind him. As he repositions the box adjacent to their living room sofa, he thinks about heading straight to the shower, but he decides to greet Diego first.

“Diego—_llegué._” He announces his presence into the apartment space, but no one responds.

Edinson walks into their bedroom, and sees that the room has been cleaned. The bedsheets have been changed, and the laundry basket was empty. He sees that Diego is sitting out in the balcony, both legs elevated and resting on the railing. He’s holding a glass of wine in his hand, and a bottle has been set on the table beside him.

“Hey, Diego…” Edinson approaches him, placing his hand over his shoulder, “…what are you drinking?”

Diego turns his head, looking upward and leans into Edinson, who bends down to greet him with a quick kiss over his mouth. He brings his feet back down and sits upright.

“Cabernet sauvignon.” Diego responds coolly, “Would you like me to pour you a glass?”

Edinson is not in the mood to drink—but he accepts Diego’s offer. “Sure, just give me a moment and I’ll get a glass from the kitchen.”

“No, no—you sit down. I’ll get it for you myself.” Diego grasps Edinson’s forearm, conveying his insistence.

He rises and steps inside while Edinson pulls up a chair and sits. He runs his hands over his hair and sighs. It was inevitable. His decision to step away for two days did not sit well with Diego, and he very likely wanted to talk this through. It would explain why their space was spotless—to take away any excuse to busy himself with cleaning up.

Diego returns and picks up the bottle of _Siesta_, and pours Edinson a glass.

“Thank you.” Edinson whispers bringing the rim of the glass close enough to take in the scent.

“You might like it…it’s got notes of blackberries and subtle woodsy, nutty flavors. If you pause to savor it carefully, I swear you can taste the aromatic bittersweet accents of coffee.” Diego speaks as he picks up his own glass and takes a seat.

Edinson takes a quick sip and closes his eyes nodding in agreement before he speaks, “I suppose we can just rip off the band-aid and talk things out.”

Diego looks ahead of him, eyes shifting between his glass and the sun setting and he smiles a pained smile.

“I’ve hurt you, Edi.” Diego turns to look at him, “I’ve hurt you…and I just want to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s not the first time.” Edinson responds, his voice low and eyes lowered to focus on his glass. “I’m your boyfr—fiancé…not a rent boy, or a porn star you can use for your entertainment or to act out your fantasies.”

“Do you think we are sexually incompatible?” Diego asks “That we have different needs and what we are not satisfying what we want and need to feel fulfilled?”

Edinson pauses.

“It baffles me, Diego…because we didn’t have these kinds of problems when we first met.”

“When I first met you, you agreed to sell me your companionship in exchange for my help paying off some of your debts.” Diego speaks matter-of-factly, “You forget you started out as a bit of a rent boy…”

“You know I’m not proud of that, and that I’d start things over between us if I could.” Edinson sighs.

“Right, but even so, you didn’t deny yourself or turn down any of my requests then…so I always had the assumption you were disinhibited.”

A minute of silence lapses between them. Diego sips on his wine and Edinson thinks of how to best phrase his answer.

“It’s different when you do something to please a client…and when you do something for your own personal satisfaction or even out of love for another person.” He responds, “When I am with you—I don’t want to perform for you. I just want to be myself with you.”

“When did I ever make you—” Diego begins until Edinson interjects.

“If we are going to have an honest conversation, I think we should begin taking responsibility for what we each did. And you’ve made me do things I didn’t feel comfortable with—as your _boyfriend_.”

“Such as?” Diego leans in and raises his eyes making direct eye contact with him.

“Do you remember how a couple of years back, you kept pushing me to agree to fuck one of your friends in our bed while you watched?” Edinson holds eye contact with Diego for a minute, waiting for Diego to nod or give him some non-verbal indication that he remembers. Diego looks away, and Edinson continues, “I told you I didn’t even think our relationship was secure enough to bring in a third person.” Edinson pauses and sips on his wine and runs his tongue over his lips. “But you insisted that this was something you really wanted us to do. That it would fulfill a fantasy. I forgot exactly what you told me that finally convinced me to agree…but I regretted it almost immediately. I ended up doing it anyway because I wanted to please you. I put myself through something so degrading for nothing. You became even more insecure afterwards asking me if I liked the sex better with what’s-his-face than with you. I couldn’t make you understand…I hated every second of it, and yet I felt pressured to perform for you and had to act like I liked it. We almost broke up because of that.”

“Yes, that was a mistake.” Diego swishes his wine and presses his lips.

The sun has set, and all that’s left is the residual light reflected in the clouds. A mild breeze runs and Edinson takes a deep breath before he speaks.

“Sometimes…I feel like we’re negotiating a transaction. You don’t relate to me like a real person sometimes. You don’t ask me what I want, or how I feel…It’s about you and what you want, and I’m like the waiter taking your order instead of your guest at the table deciding together what it is that we want.”

Edinson sets down his glass and leans forward raising his eyes to look at Diego.

“No, I see it now…I see it,” Diego sighs, “and I promise you that things will be different between us now.”

Diego sets down his glass and rises to walk towards Edinson. He cards a hand over his hair, tucking one of his stands behind his ear before he slides his hand underneath his chin to tilt his face up towards him.

“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I’m grateful to know you. To have you in my life.” Diego whispers before he leans in to kiss Edinson over his mouth. Diego positions his hands over his shoulders, kneading away at the tension in his body. Edinson gasps reflexively as a gratifying shiver runs along his spine. The amount of pressure and warmth of Diego’s hands on him over the fabric of his shirt makes him realize how wound up he is.

When they shower together, and Diego insists on scrubbing him down and lathering up his hair, carefully using the tips of his fingers to massage his scalp. Edinson tilts his head back, rinsing his hair under the shower head, fingers running through his long strands carefully.

He feels Diego’s fingers trailing over his lower abdomen, alongside his scar and he jolts in surprise at the touch. Diego grasps Edinson’s midsection, pressing his hips against his backside. Edinson lowers his eyes, focusing on the grip of Diego’s hands on his body. Fingers pressing into his skin right below a bruise with hues of lavender and yellow—a bruise that was almost healed.

He turns to face Diego and kisses him, wrapping his arms around his neck as he kisses him a second time, more deeply. He pulls away to look at Diego.

“Not tonight…okay?” Edinson whispers.

Diego leans forward, kissing the birthmark beneath his eye before he exhales his response against his ear.

“Sure, my love…whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 9 January 2021, I added 43 words, making minor edits.


	7. Chapter 7

While the corrections officer undoes Leandro’s handcuffs, Edinson removes his suit jacker and hangs it over his chair.

“I’ve got some updates to share with you, Leandro.” Edinson says, his hand reaching into his briefcase for a pen.

“So what’s new?” Leandro responds, voice hoarse as if his vocal cords had undergone significant strain.

He massages his wrists and the corrections officer juts his chin forward, gesturing to get Edinson’s attention. “Knock on the glass window if you need something or once you’re finished.”

“Will do.” Edinson responds as he flips through his legal pad to find a blank page and fills out a cursory heading. He waits until the door closes behind them before he addresses Leandro.

“How have you been?” he asks, raising his eyes to look at Leandro and he immediately regrets asking. From Leandro’s appearance alone, Edinson can tell it’s been difficult for him.

“I’ve seen better days.” Leandro’s bleary eyes shift briefly just to make eye contact before looking away. He scratches the side of his head. “So what’s new?”

“The hearing for your trial started yesterday. Dr. Tabárez and your former boss, Alejandro Sabella stepped forward. So has your cousin Paulo.” Edinson maintains firm eye contact with Leandro, as much as it hurts to look at him. “They’ve all been approved by the court and they will testify on your behalf at your trial.”

Leandro lowers his eyes, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. “And the trial? Has the court set a date?”

Edinson sucks in a breath. “I’m meeting with ADA Suárez tomorrow to discuss a few details regarding just that. I estimate that your trial could start as early as next month and as late as two months from now.”

Edinson looks on and can tell Leandro probably hasn’t been eating or sleeping well, and that perhaps he’s been in some kind of fight or confrontation for which he was chastised for. He doesn’t insist asking him on how he’s been holding up in terms of his morale, though he is worried. Leandro comes off as closed and more guarded than the first time he’s met him. Not a good indication. Edinson’s mouth hangs slightly open, not sure of whether to address Leandro’s well-being or to get straight to work.

“Have you received any visitors?” he asks.

Leandro presses his lips, keeping his eyes lowered and shakes his head. “El Doc came to visit me.” he mumbles, “But I sent him away. I couldn’t stand seeing him looking at me like I’m his biggest fucking disappointment or something.” Leandro shrugs dismissively, even though the way he keeps his eyes lowered broadcasts his shame. “I dunno.”

Edinson exhales through his nose. “Leandro—” he frowns, “although I can’t speak for Dr. Tabárez himself, I do know he has a profound appreciation for you and your family.” He loosens his tie. “Forgive me if this comment might seem out of line—but take some responsibility for what you can do for yourself these days.” Edinson asserts calmly, “Can you be willing to accept the support from those that want to be there for you? To _help_ you get through this?”

Leandro gives Edinson a startled look, as if he wasn’t expecting this kind of audacity from him.

“Well, Holy Mary Mother of God—why didn’t I think of that before?” Leandro snickers, “You know it’s pretty fucking hard to cheer up when a month from now, I could either be dead or look forward to spending the rest of my fucking life in this shit hole.”

Edinson presses his lips firmly—pausing for a moment to choose his words carefully before he leans forward,

“Leandro, I am not trivializing your situation. What I’m saying is that you do not have to make this more painful than it already is.”

Leandro runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, eyes shifting to meet Edinson’s gaze. He doesn’t say anything but something about the way Leandro inclines his head tells Edinson he feels chastened by his last comment. Edinson wants to say something comforting to temper the static energy between them, but holds back. The way he’s reading the situation tells him that he needs to measure his words carefully. Any little thing might result in unnecessary friction.

“I’d like to pick up where we left off last time, Leandro—” Edinson finally breaks the silent pause and glances down at his legal pad. “I’d like you to tell me…in your own words, what happened the day that you killed Chief Inspector López.” Edinson clears his throat and sips on his water before he adds, “_Wait_.” he raises his finger, “Allow me to back up. Before you tell me what happened…I’d like to know how did matters escalate between you and him?”

Leandro sighs and makes a despective gesture with his hand.

“He harassed me for months. _Months_. Since he recognized me checking in with my parole officer…he hasn’t left me alone.” Leandro presses his lips together as he exhales sharply through his nose.

“Do you know for how long exactly? Also…when you say he _harassed_ you, what do you mean by that?” Edinson asks as he jots down brief reference notes.

Leandro runs his hand under his nose and sniffs. He breaks eye contact for a moment. “I’d say almost six months?” he rests his elbows onto the table and runs both hands over his hair, “It would have been almost six months.” Leandro answers assertively. “Sorry, the last week here’s been a hell hole. My thoughts are all over the place.”

Edinson puts down his pen and brings both his hands together over the table.

“We can set up a meeting at another day if you’re not feeling well enough to discuss these details. They’re important to help me build the strongest case in your defense, Leandro.”

“No, no—I’m _fine_.” Leandro nods.

“Since the moment you walked in, I could see you didn’t look well. Is there anything I can do right now for you?” Edinson raises his eyebrows in concern.

“I promise you, I’m fine—and what you’re doing already…it’s enough. Let’s continue?”

The way Leandro looks back at Edinson, with an utter look that could only be described as a blend between a quiet rage and hopelessness makes Edinson lower his eyes briefly. He feels a dull pain expand over his chest, leaving him unsettled. He knows this kind of anger. An anger where one often is left with little choice but to swallow and endure an unjust suffering. Edinson looks up once more and nods.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” He responds and he picks up his pen. “So around six months ago, López recognized you when you presented yourself to your parole officer?”

“Yeah.” Leandro nods, “The motherfucker was like—'_Paredes!_, I remember you. I handcuffed your punk ass after that stunt you and your little gang tried to pull. Why you’re on parole and not behind bars is beyond me.’” Leandro scratches his nose, pulling his mouth into a frown. “I remember he kept provoking me. Trying to get me angry while I was trying to present all my papers to my parole officer.”

“Who was your parole officer?” Edinson interjects as he scribbles down a few bullet points.

“Officer Otamendi.” Leandro responds and reaches for his glass of water. He takes a few sips and sets down his glass. “He was saying stuff like—'Do you remember how you cried like a little bitch? You know—shit that basically translates to ‘_you’re a fucking pussy_,’ which—in the _villas_—is more than enough to make us _wachos_ throw hands.”

“Those comments were completely out of line and inappropriate.” Edinson comments briskly as he writes down a few lines. “Did Otamendi ever step in? Put him in place?”

“He couldn’t. López pulled rank. He even commented to Otamendi how I didn’t deserve my conditional freedom. That I was a menace to society and belonged in prison.” Leandro bites down on his lip for a moment. “This is in spite of me coming in and keeping up with all my requirements meeting with Officer Otamendi…for a _year_.” He sucks in a breath, “Never had a problem. _Never_.” Leandro raises his eyes and there is such a hardness to his look that makes Edinson stir nervously in his seat.

“Until _that_ fucker came into the picture.”

☼

Edinson hits moderate traffic merging onto _La Panamericana_ and he smothers a curse under his breath. He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, drumming the palms of his hand over his thigh to the beat of the music playing on the radio while keeping his other hand over the steering wheel. His hopes that he’d get to his office in about 20 minutes goes out the window when he hits a patch where he’s stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Edinson sighs and glances at his phone for notifications.

Martín had sent him a couple of texts, nothing of high importance, and he has a missed call from Diego. Edinson raises his eyes to focus on what’s ahead of him. He swears that he’s one minute away from calling Diego to tell him that he won’t attend the gala later that evening with him—that he’d much rather spend that time working. His head is buzzing with ideas—with strategies to build up his case to compete with what Suárez has built so far. In the last twenty or so minutes that he’s been driving, he mentally reviewed his session with Leandro, trying to see if he could find meaningful connections between events while everything was still fresh.

What begins to dawn on him infuriates him.

López was a long-time client at Banco Nacion. His late wife, Wanda, worked there after all. In the time he had been stalking Leandro, López learned through Paulo—who had assisted him in several occasions with a few transactions himself—that he and Leandro were related. Paulo was still naïve and unassuming of López’s perverse intentions and disclosed that they were _cousins_.

Edinson had a strong premonition—a _hunch_—that López had tried to orchestrate matters to frame Leandro by also implicating Paulo as an accomplice. Paulo worked in the compliance and anti-money laundering sector. The fact that he specialized in the enforcement of government and international policies to combat organized crime and terrorism only meant that he knew the laws well enough to figure out all the loop-holes to launder dirty money. All López had to do was implicate or link Leandro to a crime—and he found an opportunity to do this with Mauro.

Leandro and Mauro had stayed in contact after they both got out of prison. Where Leandro stayed out of trouble and kept his nose clean, Mauro was still casually dabbling with the distribution of narcotics to supplement his income. López arranged a set up in which he arrested Mauro. In lieu of holding a trial that Mauro was going to lose without question, ADA Suárez convinced Mauro’s lawyer that his best option was to plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence following his full cooperation with the DA’s office. While Edinson had no concrete proof—no smoking gun—he was _certain_ that López had managed to coerce Mauro to implicate Leandro as part of the larger drug trafficking ring. What López needed to seal the deal was to drag Paulo into his scheme by any means. He had no dirt on Paulo to manipulate him through extortion—which is why López was left with only one real option. _Coercion_.

What occurs to him in his car makes him reach for his phone to record a voice memo for future reference. He’s barely finished getting all his thoughts down when a driver honks at him.

“Eu—_pelotudo_—¿¡te estas haciendo la paja, o que?!” the driver yells at him impatiently.

Edinson is two seconds from lowering his window to respond with a lewd gesture or to curse him out. _Dude. Just what do you expect me to do with all that traffic ahead of us? Crash my car?_ He thinks.

“Fucking_porteños_.” He mutters quietly as he raises the volume of his radio.

☼

Edinson stabs the last bit of _milanesa_ and salad onto his fork and turns his attention to his notes. He chews on his food as he continues to expand on his cursory one-liners and bullet points. He managed to work his way up to the point where Leandro is discussing Chief Inspector López’s murder when he gets a call from Luis Suárez.

“What is it?” Edinson answers listlessly.

“Edi—” Luis responds, enthusiastically with a hint of nervousness, “I’m sorry for doing this—I have you down for tomorrow morning at 10. Is there any chance I can move to see you later that day?”

“I’m afraid my schedule is booked for the rest of the day. Unless you’re willing to meet at off hours.” Edi positions his phone between his ear and shoulder before he picks up his plate, leaving his office to make his way to the communal kitchen area.

“That works.” Luis lets out a sharp exhale, “Thanks for being flexible, Edi.”

Edinson shuts his eyes and bites down on his lower lip. _It’s not like I have much of a choice_., he thinks. “Sure, of course. So we’re looking to meet at 19 hours? Your office?” He runs the faucet and begins washing his dish.

“Yes—that works.” Luis responds. A moment of silence lapses between them before Luis speaks up once more, “Edi—once again, thanks for accommodating me. I’ll buy you a drink after our meeting.”

Edinson lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s okay, Luisito—there’s no need—”

“You know that I don’t ever leave a favor unpaid.” Luis interrupts. “And I actually have an ulterior motive for wanting to keep you around for longer. I got a new case. A rape case.” Luis clears his throat. “I wanted to run a few things by you.”

“I see.” Edinson stacks his plate and utensils onto the dish drier and wipes his hands dry with the kitchen towel. “If you want to get my legal expertise, I’m afraid it’s going to cost you more than just a drink.”

“No—it’s nothing like that.” Luis answers assuredly. “There’s just something about this case that I can’t bring myself to _understand_.” Luis sighs. “I just want your perspective on a few things.”

“Fine,” Edinson huffs, “I’ll do it, but you’re also paying for dinner.”

Luis lets out a bark of laughter, and Edinson grins as he picks up his phone in his hand again, making his way back to his office.

“You were never a cheap date, Edi.” Luis comments.

“I just know what I’m worth.” Edinson responds with a hint of snark.

“And for that reason, I’ll always consider myself lucky that I got to fuck you for free.” Luis replies, his tone smug with a note of self-righteousness.

“I’ve got to get back to work.” Edinson hangs up without waiting for Luis’ response, dropping his phone onto his desk.

“Go _fuck_ yourself.” He seethes as he sits back down to work on his notes.

☼

Edinson is reclining in the living room sofa, resting his eyes when Diego arrives home.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Diego greets Edinson, running his hand over his head.

Edinson brings his feet down and sits up to make room for Diego to sit beside him. He’s about to ask Diego if he could forego attending the gala that evening, but the way Diego looks at him excitedly makes him hold back his complaints about feeling unusually tired. He leans into Diego’s embrace and accepts his kiss over his mouth.

“You look like you’re fading already.” Diego comments, sliding his hand underneath Edinson’s chin, tilting his face toward him when he tries to look away.

“It’s been a typical work day, but…but it’s been heavy. I processed some difficult things today.” Edinson smiles weakly and places his hand over Diego’s wrist, gently pushing his hand away. He rests his forehead against Diego’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“Well, tonight you can leave it all behind and enjoy yourself.” Diego runs his hand alongside Edinson’s back. “I wanted to surprise you later tonight, but I guess I’ll share this with you now.” He grins, “I booked us a quick getaway to the coast for the weekend.”

Edinson gasps and pulls away.

“_This_ weekend?” he asks, eyebrows pushing up in concern, “Diego—I wish you would have told me earlier. I’m supposed to be meeting with my assistant this Saturday to work on a case.”

“For one weekend that you take off to focus on yourself—on _us_—your work won’t suffer much.” Diego answers dismissively. “Isn’t this what you’ve been asking from me? To do more things together?”

“Diego—my client might be going to trial in a month from today. The days I have left to work on his case are _numbered_.” Edinson scans Diego’s face, looking for the slightest sign that he understands his concern, but Diego looks back at him with indifference. “Every day that I push something off to the next day means I have to work _harder_ to make sure the case I’m building in his defense is as solid as can be.”

“I’m asking for you to take a couple of days. Two days, Edi—is that too much to ask from you?” Diego grasps Edinson’s shoulder.

“I would have appreciated if you had asked me first. Of course I want to make time for us—but I need to plan ahead—”

Diego interjects, “Your assistant—Leonardo can probably handle the work on his own.”

“You mean _Lautaro_.” Edinson corrects, “And yes—he’s reliable, but even so, I need to be there to discuss—”

“You will call him now and tell him you won’t be in Saturday.” Diego pushes Edinson back. “You’ll tell him that you’ll be catching up all weekend on…other duties.” He slides his hand between Edinson’s legs, and watches as his breath quickens and writhes beneath him.

“When was the last time you let me fuck you without putting up a fight, hmm?” Diego leans forward, using the hard press of his body to trap Edinson beneath him. “I can’t remember the last time you’ve approached me…asking for it.” he whispers suggestively. “Don’t you want me anymore? Do I not please you?”

“Diego—please. That’s not fair.” Edinson protests.

“I have to admit sometimes I wonder if the only reason you’ve stayed with me…was for the money all along.” Diego presses down harder, “For the same reasons you responded to my listing looking for company.”

Edinson bites down hard on his lower lip, not daring to raise his eyes to look at Diego. A burning sensation expands over his chest. More anger than shame. A moment of silence lapses between them before he sucks in a breath.

“Diego…you know that’s not true.” he raises his dark eyes and looks at Diego intently, “It hurts me to hear you say that, when you know how much I’ve given up to be with you…when you know that I love you.” Edinson lowers his eyes briefly and licks his lips. “Please stop—stop touching me there.” He wriggles a hand between the press of their bodies to grasp Diego’s hand that continues to grope him. Palming his arousal over the fabric of his dress pants.

Diego gives Edinson a hard look.

“All those times you’ve rejected me…I’ve kept note. Every single time.” Diego responds, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Edinson tosses his head back and grimaces. “Fuck, Diego—_stop_. You’ve made your point.”

“This weekend—for every time you’ve rejected me—” Diego grins, his mouth hovering close to Edinson’s, “I’m going to make you come. For every single time.”

Diego presses a hard, bruising kiss. He smiles against Edinson’s mouth as he feels his resistance weaken beneath him.

“If you truly love me, as you say you do…you’ll stop being so selfish. Thinking only of yourself and your career.”

Edinson looks back at Diego, face flushed with arousal and suppressed anger. He feels tears sting his eyes and blinks them away.

“I’m doing the best I can…Diego. Things have really picked up at work and I’m a bit more stressed than usual.” He lets out an exasperated exhale, “I’m only human.”

The timing just could not be worse. Edinson feels the need to engage in outings and activities to connect with Diego emotionally—to sort through their differences to find harmony once more. To balance this alongside the demands of his work makes him feel as if he’s in an impossible situation. He parts his lips, preparing to explain himself further, but Diego silences him with a kiss.

Diego groans as hoists himself up and leans back into a sitting position. “We’re going to be late, so we’ll talk this over later at some point.” He speaks with cool detachment.

“Now get dressed.” Diego commands, running his hand gingerly over Edinson’s locks, slightly disheveled. “Get pretty for me.”

☼

Edinson leans against the bar’s countertop, eyes scanning over the banquet hall while he finishes the last of his prosecco. Since he and Diego arrived, Edinson had never felt more out of place. He’s dressed as sharp as ever—wearing a three piece suit tailored to conform to his lean, gracile figure. His confidence doesn’t match his bold exterior, making him feel as if he’s overcompensating to blend in the company of socialites and big wigs.

Upon arrival, Diego is greeted by several colleagues, receiving his fair share of cheek kisses, one-armed hugs and other gestures of affection. When Diego introduces him as his partner, Edinson feels as if more than half of the people don’t even stop to give him a look of acknowledgement. Even their handshakes are hasty—driven more out of obligation to not appear rude or dismissive in front of Diego.

Thirty minutes into the party, Edinson decides he can’t handle any more of this superficial nonsense. He’s fed up with the posturing, the sycophantic greetings and stroking of egos Diego exchanges with others while he’s no more than a silent adornment. It’s not like he can add anything of value to the conversations either. They all center around medicine or institutional gossip. Those that do notice him look at him lasciviously or with thinly-veiled disdain—as if they knew a shameful secret of his. One young man, probably a medical student, kept throwing furtive glances in his direction. Edinson tries not to take these silent slights personally, but he wonders how much about him has Diego shared with his colleagues. Diego seems oblivious to these quiet judgements. On the contrary, he’s more animated. More gregarious than ever. Diego is fully basking in a light that makes him incredibly attractive, while Edinson feels all the more like he didn’t belong.

Edinson discreetly taps on Diego’s backside, slipping out of his grip around his waist with the excuse that he’s going to get another drink. The room is spinning, and it’s not because the alcohol had gotten to his head. He makes his way to the bar, lamenting that he’s not in his office catching up on work, or even at home readying himself to go to bed early. He leans back against the counter and watches Diego from a distance—happy as ever, in his element. Edinson feels happy for him. It’s not a side of Diego he often gets to see. He thinks of how proud he feels for Diego and how accomplished he is. Sure, it helps that he came from money—but he’s also worked hard to be where he is. No sooner he thinks this, the feelings of inadequacy he harbors quietly and tries so hard to suppress, bloom to the surface. They make him painfully aware of how different he and Diego are. How maybe he didn’t deserve to be around someone of his stature.

Edinson doesn’t realize how long he’s been idling by the bar until he’s interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Beautiful stranger—you’ve been standing there with an empty glass for sometime.”

Edinson turns swiftly and recognizes David—the Brazilian bartender from Verne Club, the trendy bar by barrio Palermo.

“I’m happy to refill it for you.” David beams, “What are you having?”

“I just had a glass of prosecco.” Edinson leans forward and sets down his glass flute on the countertop.

“You look like you need something stronger.” David purses his lips and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Edinson laughs, more air coming out of his nose. “Do I look that bad?”

“Hey—you said it, not me.” David grins before he leans forward, gesturing to Edinson to close in on the space between them, whispering into his ear. “If you expect to last all night dealing with some of these entitled, arrogant assholes—your best bet is to go for the harder stuff.” David pulls away and blinks in rapid succession, a flirtatious grin spreading over his face.

Edinson smiles and looks away, shaking his head.

“Let me hook you up with an old fashioned.” David says, loud enough to be heard through the clamor of voices and the background music.

“I’m not looking to get hammered.” Edinson responds. “Another one of these will do.”

A waiter suddenly interjects.

“David—I need another tray of flutes. Right away.”

David gestures to Edinson to wait before he disappears from his view.

“Is there no one at the bar?”

Edinson turns around and recognizes the young man who had kept stealing glances at him.

“There is,” Edinson responds, “he’s just gone to the back to take care of an order.” He pauses for a moment and decides to keep the conversation going. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Edi.” He extends his hand and shakes the young man’s hand briskly.

“Giovani.” He responds, “I noticed you came in with Dr. Forlán. Are you also a doctor?”

Edinson shakes his head. “I’m a public defender.” His voice shakes with mild laughter, “I’m nowhere near as smart or as dedicated as my partner. At least when it comes to medicine.”

Giovani’s eyes widen for a moment, as if something he had just told him took him by surprise, but Edinson pretends not to notice. He keeps the conversation moving forward, “And you?”

“I’m in my third year of medical school.” Giovani blinks, “I’ve been shadowing Dr. Forlán since the summer. He just finished his residency in cardiology…and I’m just going to miss him.”

Edinson extends his arm over Giovani’s shoulder.

“Diego’s told me about you—the students he mentors. He seems to care a lot about you.” He pauses when he notices David set his drink over the countertop. He gives David a nod of acknowledgement and reaches into his pocket to pull out a few bills to tip him. “Are you going to order anything?” he asks Giovani.

“I’ll have a glass of pinot grigio.” Giovani calls out his order.

Edinson decides to use the pause to check on his phone and notices an email from Lautaro. He had attached the exhaustive summary of the court cases for him to review in relation to the Paredes case. He has no idea how his assistant managed to get this around to him before the weekend to review. This would mean he’d have to begin reviewing right away if he expected to enjoy a guilt-free weekend. _Lautaro—you’re amazing_. Edinson thinks to himself.

“Edi—” Diego calls out, “I see you’ve met one of my mentees.”

Edinson tips his face towards Diego, who presses a soft kiss over his mouth.

Giovani picks up his drink from the bar and nods. “It was nice meeting you.” he addresses Edinson before he slips away.

“He’s a nice kid. A bit awkward—.” Edinson comments as he reaches once again into his pocket to pull out a few bills to tip David for Giovani’s drink. “and absentminded.” He pauses to sip on his drink and licks his lips, “So what’s the deal between you two?”

Diego wraps his arm around Edinson’s waist and pulls him close. “There’s nothing between us. He was the one who approached me, and I’ve rejected his advances.”

Edinson scans Diego’s face, looking for any signs of deceit.

“Do you like him that way?” he presses further.

Diego shrugs, looking at the polished tiled floors and nods, “Yes, I’m not going to lie.” Diego looks up, “He’s beautiful.”

Edinson lowers his eyes to conceal his anger and takes a more generous sip of his prosecco. He thinks for a moment how irrational his anger is. Diego is allowed to have crushes. He’s allowed to find other men attractive. The important thing was that he remained faithful to him—and not act out his desires. He decides Diego seems earnest enough in his responses and drops the topic completely.

“Diego, remember how I promised I’d try to get Saturday off?” He raises his eyes once more looking at Diego intently. “Lautaro just sent me the bulk of his work for me to review. I’m booked all day tomorrow, so I need to get this done tonight.”

Diego looks back disapprovingly. “You can’t go now. We just got here.”

“Either I bow out tonight, or you can drive yourself to enjoy the beaches of Mar de Plata by yourself this weekend.” Edinson responds, “Your call.”

“Who’s going to pick you up? It’s not like either one of us are fit to drive.” Diego lowers his brow, and his eyes narrow.

“That’s the least of our worries.” Edinson gently eases out of Diego’s hold around his waist, “If I can’t find a willing friend, I can call for a cab.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Excuse me, while I make a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 9 January 2021, I added 33 words, making minor edits.


	8. Chapter 8

Edinson gets a call from Martín, and he dashes to the waiting area, just outside the restrooms away from the bustle and music before he picks up.

“Martín—” is all he manages to say, before he’s cut off.

“Edi—get your ass over as soon as you can.” Martín spits, “The valet parking guy is really busting my balls about idling here. I’m like—one second away from getting out of the car and punching him in the face.”

He hangs up before Edinson can even respond. Martín was never one to make idle threats or speak in hyperbole. Edinson knows that if he got pushed to the limit, he would actually take a swing at the valet driver. Just the idea makes him rush back inside to find Diego to let him know he was leaving.

Edinson finds him in the company of several of his colleagues, musing amongst themselves.

“Excuse me—” he interjects. “Diego, I’m heading out. My ride’s outside and can’t wait for long.” He leans forward to press a quick kiss over his mouth.

“Is this your new playmate?” One of the voices addresses Diego, “This one looks _thoroughbred_—a good ride guaranteed.”

Edinson turns, bewildered by the audacity of the comment and feels Diego grasp his forearm, the firmness of his grip a clear warning to stay quiet.

“Viggo—this is Edinson. He’s my partner—my fiancé.” Diego asserts.

Edinson observes as Viggo blanches, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

After a short pause he addresses Edinson, “I hope you’ll forgive me for my indiscretion. I may’ve had one too many.” He raises his drink.

Edinson parts his lips, still astounded. He wants to tell him that even if he was an escort, he had some nerve referring to him like some animal bred for sexual enjoyment.

“No offense taken.” He forces himself to say. He turns to look at Diego, who lowers his brow, and gives him a look as if saying, _We’ll discuss this later_.

“Anyhow,” Viggo adds as he extends his arm and clinks his glass against Diego’s, “Congratulations. Congratulations to the both of you.”

“Excuse me,” Edinson motions to pull away from Diego’s grip. “I’ve got to go.”

He shuts his eyes to mask his annoyance when Diego slides his arm across his waist and pulls him close. A non-verbal plea to stay.

“I never thought you’d settle.” Viggo taps Diego’s forearm. “You’ve always been about variety. It’s the spice of life after all.”

“Neither did I, until I met him—” Diego nods, “Excuse us for a moment.”

“_Thoroughbred_.” Edinson speaks to Diego in a hushed voice. “That’s a _first_.”

Diego remains silent as he accompanies Edinson just outside the banquet hall before he finally speaks. “I’m sorry about that, Edi.” He sighs. “He admitted it himself—he was very inebriated.”

“What are you sorry about?” Edinson smiles a tight grin, “That he just referred to me as your boy toy? Your _new_ boy toy? When I’ve been your partner for _four_ years?”

“He knew me when I was a different person then. _You_ knew me then—when I only sought—” Diego begins to speak, but Edinson cuts him off,

“No, that’s _not_ the issue—” Edinson’s eyes widen, keeping his voice low, “Call me a whore? Fine. I’ll take it. I mean, I did it for a year,” he huffs, “The issue here is that he didn’t even acknowledge me as _real_ person.” He smiles a grin of bewilderment, “_Thoroughbred_. Guaranteed a good ride? What does that even mean? A high-end whore bred for pleasure?”

Diego leans forward to grasp his arm, but Edinson steps back, gesturing with his hand, “Judging by the company you keep, now I see why you don’t treat me like a real person sometimes.”

Diego looks around him and gestures to Edinson to lower his voice. “Can we not discuss this now?”

Edinson lowers his head, and draws a deep breath. “Fine.” He exhales with a note of repressed anger.

He starts to make his way out without extending a proper goodbye when Diego grabs hold of his wrist, pulling him back. He closes in on the space between them, and holds Edinson in a lingering embrace.

“You look so ravishingly beautiful to me right now.” Diego speaks low and soft into the shell of his ear. “It almost reminds me of the first time I met you.” he cards a hand through his hair and his lips hover towards his forehead where he presses a quick kiss.

Edinson can’t even muster a response. Hours earlier, in their home, Diego had threatened to force himself on him for every time he had turned him down. Had guilted him to agreeing to spend time with him at a moment of high inconvenience. Had tried to make him feel like he was selfish, ungrateful and undeserving. There are too many things he feels that are bubbling under the surface. Instead, he walks away, half-heartedly wishing he had taken up David’s offer earlier and drank some of the harder stuff to numb everything he’s feeling.

When he walks outside, he finds that Martín had stepped out of his car, and is talking to the valet driver. Just as he feared.

“My man, can you get off my dick? I’m _not_ loitering—I’m picking someone up!” Martín leans forward in an aggressive stance, pressing his lips tightly as he brings both hands on his hips.

“Martín.” Edinson waves to get his attention._Please, don’t do anything stupid_. He thinks.

Martín’s eyes shift upwards to meet his gaze and his eyes briefly widen with surprise before his expression relaxes. Edinson thinks he sees him flash a hint of a smile. He’s not sure.

“There he is.” Martín addresses the valet driver, jutting his arm out and waving his hand in Edinson’s general direction. “See?” he huffs, “Jesus, Mary and _Joseph_! All God’s angels and fucking saints! Not even my own _mother_—” Martín crosses himself, “May her soul rest in peace—” he kisses his fingers and raises his hands and eyes up to the night sky, “Not even my own mother busted my balls _this_ hard.” He hisses as he walks to his car.

The valet driver shakes his head and lets both his hands fall hard against his thighs in a gesture of resignation.

“I’m sorry about that.” Edinson addresses the valet driver as he passes him, “I know you were just doing your job.”

He gets in the car and barely hasn’t even fully fastened his seatbelt when Martín accelerates towards the roundabout—ready to exit.

“I’m sorry about the wait. I can explain—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Martín shrugs as he slows down, turning his head to look both ways before he makes a right, merging onto the main road.

“I swear I almost didn’t recognize you,” Martín throws a quick side glance, a broad smile spreading over his face, “You’re looking real sharp. Like a million dollars.”

Edinson shuts his eyes and smiles. “Thanks.”

“So what’s the occasion?” Martín asks, “Sorry—mind if I lower the window? Just a crack?”

“No—go ahead.” Edinson shakes his head, “This was a function Diego was invited to for a professional society he’s a member of.”

“And?” Martín grins, “You had fun?”

Edinson draws a deep breath, chest visibly rising. He lets out a sharp exhale as looks out the passenger window, and Martín turns his head slightly to steal a glance. “Shit—I guess not. How come?”

“I don’t know,” Edinson mumbles. “I felt out of place.”

“Ha!” Martín barks with laughter, “You? Out of place? Looking like a GQ model _and_ being one of the smartest people I know?”

Edinson brings a hand over his eyes and gestures to Martín with his other hand to stop.

“Let’s just say I’ve been the odd ball in the room long enough to know when I’m not being taken seriously.”

Edinson replays the scenes in his head. He thinks maybe that it wasn’t so much the judgmental looks from the people that knew of Diego’s playboy lifestyle that regarded him as just another one of his boy toys. What hurt the most was walking in Diego’s company and having others’ eyes completely gloss over him as if he was interrupting their field of view. _Like he didn’t even exist_. Unlike most of the attendees—he had no high position in society. Being a public defender didn’t evoke the respect or have the same ring of glamor as a neurosurgeon, or oncologist. While he took pride in his work, to most people in that room—he was a nobody.

Martín breaks at a red light. He slaps a hand over Edinson’s thigh and tilts his head.

“Your problem is that you lack confidence.” Martín’s eyes widen, “Hey—look at me when I’m talking to you!” he swats his hand to slap away Edinson’s hand covering his eyes. Edinson jolts—bewildered—and turns to look at Martín. “_No one _can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

Martín lowers his eyebrows, and a cheeky grin spreads over his face.

“Saw that quote this morning and I shared it during discussion time with my group. I thought you might need to hear it too.”

The light changes and Martín hits the gas pedal, turning his attention to the road once more.

“A lot of us who’re in recovery? We struggle with self-worth _daily_.” Martin’s eyes widen, his face grimacing, “I tell my people—I _fucked_ up. I fucked up a whole lot for many years.”

Martin’s tongue stiffens, running the tip over the corners of his lips and throws Edinson a quick glance.

“I _used_. For years…to disconnect myself from my pain. From feeling worthless. And when I stopped using? _Shit_—” Martín brings his hand over his mouth and smooths down his freshly trimmed beard, “I had to deal with the flood of all the thoughts and feelings I spent years running away from.”

He brings his hand back over the steering wheel, shaking his head and smothers a curse, “Fuck—I think I missed my turn." he mumbles, voice just barely above a whisper, "Oh—_wait_. No, I didn’t.” Martín waves a triumphant finger as he tilts his head to look at Edinson, who looks back at him, smiling faintly.

“As if that wasn’t enough—I was also dealing with people judging me for who I used to be.” Martín waits for the car in front of him to accelerate before he makes a turn. “It took me a while to realize that when people say shit to bring you down…they can’t do it unless you allow yourself to believe it.”

“What if some of it is true?” Edinson asks, “I mean—I get the idea. If someone calls me a giraffe, it’s easy to not take it personally. I know what I am, and what I’m _not_.”

Martín chews on his lip. “But do you really know yourself like that, Edi? Are you even aware of what a beautiful piece of work you are?”

He glances at Edinson, shaking his head, while Edinson smiles shyly, hanging his head, quickly combing back the few stands that fall over his face.

“Look, I know you still beat yourself up for shit that’s in the past. Stuff you had no say in and no control over. Here’s what I have to say about it.” Martín stops at the red light. “Own it, and fucking _deal_ with it!” He belts out firmly, “Everybody’s got at least one phase in their life they’re not proud of. And it’s always the fuckers that haven’t learned to deal with their shit that will try to drag you down.”

Martín turns to look at Edinson, eyes open and eager to drive his point. He taps his hand over Edinson’s head. “Don’t let them. Don’t give them permission to bring you down.”

He drives the next few stretches of road in silence. He doesn’t want to lecture Edinson or come off as he’s unloading unsolicited advice, but this is just how the conversation unfolded between them.

“Just so you know,” Martín breaks the silence, “a lot of the shit I just told you…it goes for me too.” He hurriedly unscrews the cap from his water bottle and takes a generous sip.

“I appreciate everything you told me.” Edinson answers, almost listlessly as he looks out the passenger window. “I mean it. Thank you.” He’s not so much disengaged as much as he’s mentally reviewing his day and a crushing feeling starts to wash over him.

He thinks of Leandro, and the precarious situation he’s in, irrespective of the outcome of his trial. He thinks of how Diego continues to flirt over his pressure points. Diego would continue being Diego. No matter how many heart-to-heart conversations they continue to have. There were many things he loved about him alongside many other qualities that he either needed to learn to accept them or figure out a way to make them bearable.

At one point, Diego represented a kind of fairy tale happy ending: a wealthy medical doctor with the right last name who unintentionally fell in love with him—a nearly-destitute law school graduate—while using him for his own means. Diego gave him back his dignity. He offered him the security he needed to quit responding to online propositions from older men for sex. _Indefinitely_. Diego paid for his outstanding debts. Furthermore, he helped him with establishing his own practice by putting in some of his own money into Edinson’s endeavors. He financed the office suite for him and the renovations to turn them into professional office spaces. Edinson wouldn’t have to sell himself out to a law firm that would exploit him or force him to compete with other colleagues to become a partner. He could be his own boss. He could practice law in alignment with his values. _With freedom_.

Diego could be kind, attentive and generous, but as Edinson would find out soon enough, the opposite was also true. Diego had his faults, as every person does, and in the beginning, Edinson overlooked them. He attributed the episodes of Diego’s callousness, arrogance, possessiveness, and selfishness to situational factors, such as stress, or the grief following the death of a patient. Though throughout their time living together, Edinson started to realize this is just who Diego _is_. His half-brother—happily married with children—tells him, “_Aprendes a querer las espinas, o si no, no aceptes rosas_.” It’s how he arrives at the bitter truth that when it comes to love, the assurances of ‘happily ever afters’ are promises only found in children’s books. What happens beyond ‘ever after’ isn’t always happy.

“Hey—” Martín taps his hand over Edinson’s arm when they’re at a red light.

“I won’t ever forget what you did for me, and what that cost you.” Martín sighs. “You gave up all you had. That’s how I know you’re a keeper. Not many people would do what you did to help me.”

Edinson opens his mouth to reply when he feels the buzz of a couple of incoming texts and he pulls out his phone. They’re from Diego.

_Edi, my love, text me _

_when you get home._

_I’ll be staying over with _

_a colleague tonight, so don’t _

_stay up waiting for me._

Edinson tilts his head back and lolls his head against the headrest and chews on his lower lip.

“Martín, did you eat dinner already?” he asks.

“Did you even listen to half the shit I just told you?” Martín glowers jokingly.

“I did—every word.” Edinson asserts. “And I’d pay for rehab and post your bail again for you, fool.” He grins, “Except this time, I’d be able to do it without—”

“I know we’ve talked about this before—but I really need to remind you that my head nearly exploded when I found out what you were doing to get that money.” Martín cuts him off. The light turns green and Martín accelerates. “Promise me you’ll never do that again. Not for me. Not for _anyone_.” He asserts, “And no—I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Diego’s…not coming home tonight.” Edinson sighs, not addressing Martín’s very vocal disdain of his decision to do sex work. “I was going to suggest you come over. I’ll make dinner. My way of saying _thanks_…and you can go home or crash on our bed or sofa…whatever you prefer.”

Martín cocks his head, pretending to think about it.

“Done deal.” He says after a moment of silence, “Can’t say no to a home cooked meal.”

☼

Martín offers to do the dishes while Edinson retreats to the living room and powers on his laptop.

He downloads the documents Lautaro attached to his email and checks to see the number of references he’s listed—all court cases where a defendant was tried for the murder of a federal officer within the last 30 years.

_1) Duhau de Mendez Lynch, Álvaro c/ Municipalidad de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires_

_SENTENCIA 3 de Junio de 1993_

_CAPITAL FEDERAL, CIUDAD AUTÓNOMA DE BUENOS AIRES_

_Justicia Federal en lo Criminal y Correccional_

_Sala E_

_Magistrado(s): Navarro Id SAIJ: FA93020002 _

He skims over to Lautaro’s notes on this case:

_Found guilty. Issued the death penalty. Executed 17 June 1993, two weeks after sentencing._

_Had a prior record._

Edinson exhales and moves onto the next case,

_2) Rodríguez Souza, Alberto c/ Municipalidad de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires_

_SENTENCIA 14 de Noviembre de 1994_

_CAPITAL FEDERAL, CIUDAD AUTÓNOMA DE BUENOS AIRES_

_Justicia Federal en lo Criminal y Correccional_

_Sala A_

_Magistrado(s): Sampaoli Id SAIJ: FA94080021 _

_Found guilty. Issued the death penalty. Executed 2 December 1994, three weeks after sentencing._

_Had a prior record._

Martín interrupts Edinson briefly, tapping on his shoulder.

“How long are you staying up? Want me to get a round of mates started?”

Edinson makes a face, shaking his head.

“I think this might take me a couple of hours if I focus. I’m going to bed right after.” He blinks back the urge to yawn, but fails to suppress it.

“I’m going to say my night prayers by your balcony, if you don’t mind.” Martín announces.

“So you’ve decided to sleep over?” Edinson looks up from his computer screen.

Martín shrugs, the corner of his lips tugging into a slanted smile. “I might as well.”

Edinson returns Martín’s smile with a soft grin before he lowers his eyes and goes back to focus on his work.

He goes through all 48 summaries, and to his deepest disappointment, he finds that all defendants with prior records were issued the death penalty. Out of the 48, only 4 of them had no prior record. They were the only cases where they were issued 45 years to life in prison. Of the 4, only _one_ was given the possibility of parole.

He composes an email to Lautaro, thanking him for his work before he powers down and closes his laptop for the evening.

One thing was certain. The promise of being able thwart the death penalty for Leandro based on the precedence of similar cases was dismal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 9 January 2021, I added 56 words and made minor edits.


	9. Chapter 9

Edi’s eyes shutter open and he draws a sharp breath.

Could it already be time to get up? _It can’t be_, he thinks. He doesn’t hear the usual background noise from the gates being unlocked and the clammor of inmates walking down the corridor, being goaded into the showers first thing in the morning.

He stays still, straining his hearing—listening to what’s around him. He doesn’t have time to register that there’s someone in his cell by the time his covers are flipped aside, and he’s dragged out of his cot. He’s barely able to make a startled sound either. Someone presses a hand over his mouth, muffling his cry.

He doesn’t know whether to be alarmed or relieved when he sees its that it’s two corrections officers.

“You’re not going to say a word to nobody.” One of them says. “You’re going to keep your trap shut and do as you’re told, understand?”

Edi stays silent as they lead him to one of their offices in the basement. It’s when the door closes behind them that he realizes something about the scenario doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t know why you brought me here, but I didn’t do anything…I _swear_.” Edi’s voice is shaking. Partly because it’s cold, and partly because he’s afraid. None of what’s happening appears to be a part of the usual routine since he’s been admitted to the penitentiary of Marcos Paz.

“Isn’t that what they all say?” One of the officers snickers to his companion.

“A sudden case of amnesia, huh?” the second officer raises his baton, and sticks it underneath Edi’s chin, “Well, kid. You’re probably here to think about something you’ve done.”

“Let me refresh your memory.” the first guard grabs a fistful of Edi’s hair, “You stole something? Went joyriding? Maybe destroyed public property? The whole lot of shits on your side of the wing are all guilty of such crimes.”

Edi is visibly shaking. He’s cold, tired, and hungry. The easiest thing to do is cry, except he doesn’t want to give either of the corrections officers the satisfaction of breaking into him so easily. There was no point in pleading with them. No point in telling them he’s innocent and that he’s doing time for a crime he didn’t do—all because he trusted a cop who promised he’d let him go with a warning if he did exactly as he was told. He does the only sound thing that comes to mind. _Remain silent_.

What occurs next happens too fast for Edi to even process. He finds himself bent over a desk. The side of his face slammed against the cold hard surface; it forces a grunt out of him.

“How much do you want to bet the kid’s here for joyriding?” The officer holding him down against the desk asks his partner, “Seeing a nice car…and then taking it for a spin.”

Edi hears one of the officers unfastening his belt buckle and undo his zipper. It’s only _then_ he realizes _what they’re going to do_, and he bites the inside of his lip. Even if he yelled, there was no way anyone would hear him. If he fought back, there was no telling the ways they could beat him and then come up with some elaborate story to cover it all up. The only thing he can do is beg and appeal to their better nature.

“Please…” Edi begins, voice cracked with a note of pain, “Please, don’t hurt me. You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t want to do this?” The officer holding him down mocks him.

“Yes,” Edi responds, “Please—don’t hurt me. It’s your _job!_”

“Our job?” the other officer responds, “Oh we’re doing our job. We’re going to teach you a lesson. You’ll never want to touch something that’s not yours and then take it for a ride…” the officer positions himself behind him and sharply pulls down Edi’s sweatpants, “…after you know what it feels like to be taken for a ride.”

Edi feels the officer pull down his own pants and he begins to quiver. He can’t hold back the tears of impotence. He loses his composure and he begins to cry out loud, sputtering out a succession of “no’s” and “stop’s” between sobs.

“Please—_STOP!_” He gasps for air—and he wakes up in a cold sweat.

Edinson sits up, gasping for air and brings his hand over his chest. It feels uncomfortably tight. His whole body is so tense, it feels as if his lungs have little space to expand to take in fresh air.

He tosses the covers to the side and yanks open his drawer. He reaches for a clean pair of boxers and slips them on to step out into the balcony briefly for some fresh air. It’s a bit too cold, and he feels much too exposed in a way that he isn’t used to. He changes his mind and walks back inside. He flicks the lights on and sits at the edge of his bed for a few seconds trying to compose himself. He swears he hears someone walking into his room and he turns around.

“Hey,” Martín speaks soft and low, voice slightly ragged from sleep, “I thought I heard you…I just wanted to see…” his voice trails off. He swipes his tongue over his lips, and takes as deep breath, as if taking his time to re-think what he wanted to say, “My man, are you okay?”

Edinson turns away from Martín and brings both hands over his face; forefingers rubbing his eyes.

“It was nothing.” He mumbles, his voice shaking, betraying his words.

“So…‘nothing’ woke you up?” Martín shakes his head, a facetious grin spreading over his face. “From what I heard…or from the looks of it, it sure doesn’t seem like that…but let me get you a glass of water.”

Edinson falls back on his bed, adjusting his pillow beneath him and stares at the ceiling. He blinks rapidly, trying to chase away the residual images stuck on loop in his head that make him sick to his stomach.

Martín returns after a few moments, rapping his knuckles against the door to his room as if asking for permission to enter. Edinson tilts his head forward and motions for him to come in. He sits back up as Martín walks towards him, passing him the glass of water.

“You know,” Martín rests his hand over Edinson’s shoulder, “for someone who swears that nothing’s wrong…you don’t look so good.”

Edinson keeps his eyes lowered as he takes a generous sip. He sets the glass down, over the small drawer next to his bed. Martín looks on, waiting for Edinson to compose himself.

“It was just a nightmare. That’s all.” Edinson scratches the inside of his arm and looks up at Martín, who decides to sit beside him.

“What was it about?” Martín smooths down his beard.

Edinson looks away, and shakes his head, “I’d rather not talk it over.”

“Okay,” Martín presses his lips and inclines his head. “Fine—so let’s get your mind off whatever’s bothering you.” His face tenses, taking on a pensive look and he tugs on his hair tie, undoing his messy ponytail bun. He runs both his hands over his long black hair and he parts his hairline to the side, revealing a long scar that started from the edge of his forehead that cut midway through his scalp. Edinson had seen all of Martín’s scars, but he hadn’t really taken note of this one.

“You don’t have to do anything, Tincho” Edinson raises his hand and brings it over Martín’s forehead and traces the jagged outline with his forefinger. “You just being here with me…that’s enough.”

Aside from the stories behind how scars were acquired, the actual transformation of the damaged tissue itself was interesting to Edinson.

Scar tissue lost all personality. Unlike skin, scars showed no visible signs of age, and their color was very much so quite uniform. They’re an epidermal no man’s land—with no pores, hair or wrinkles. Physical scars—just like emotional scars—shield what lies beneath. And Edinson wonders if this is why they grow the way they do. To conceal the ugliness buried deep beneath the layers of oneself.

“It’s the first time I see this one.” Edinson addresses Martín, his voice serene while he rakes his fingers alongside his scalp.

“You want to know how I got this one?” Martín raises his eyebrows, his soulful black eyes scanning Edinson’s face. “I had been partying it up with some friends and a bunch of people I didn’t know. The vibe started getting a little too much for me, so I called it quits and decided to drive back home.” Martín lowers his eyes, “I was driving while I was high, mind you. I also had a few drinks in my system. I could swear to you the road was clear, and then all of a sudden—it’s right there in front of me.” he raises both hangs in a bold gesture, “A large truck—I’m talking one of those eighteen-wheelers—is in front of me.” He sucks in a breath before he continues, “I hit the breaks—but my car continued to skid…Edi, I swore I was going to die.”

Martín looks back up and locks eyes with Edinson, who’s listening to him intently.

“Now, you might even blame it on all the shit I had in my system at the time, but _honest to God_, Edi…” Martín lowers a hand to Edinson’s thigh, “…before my car crashed and flipped over, I heard a _voice_. I vividly heard a voice, and it said, ‘_This is your last chance._’”

Martín grins and runs his hand up and down over Edinson’s thigh before he withdraws it.

“It was a miracle I survived that crash. I walked out with just this gash on my head and a few other scratches. But yeah. The cops came to the scene, and after checking out okay at the hospital, I got arrested. And this time, the court wouldn’t let me out until my bail was posted and demanded that I go to rehab—which I couldn’t afford.”

Edinson lowers his eyes and sucks in his lips.

“_You_ were the only person who showed up to help me.” Martín lowers his voice, just above a whisper. “You and me weren’t even on speaking terms. You were mad at me for being the junkie fuck up I was and stopped returning my phone calls. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”

Edinson angles his body towards Martín’s and embraces him, pressing his chest tightly against his while running his hand alongside his back. Martín reciprocates the embrace, holding Edinson against him, pressing a kiss against the shell of his ear.

“You make me want to be a better person,” Martín whispers.

Edinson lets out a low laugh as he releases Martín. He slowly reclines on his bed keeping his gaze fixed on Martín, whose eyes are everywhere on him, except where they should be.

“You never told me about _this_ scar,” Martín shifts his body and lies beside Edinson, stretching out a hand, firmly grasping Edinson’s waist.

Edinson lets out a nervous laugh as Martín’s thumb slides over the scar that cuts across the firmness of his stomach.

“This scar…” Edinson grimaces, “I picked that one up when I was in prison.”

Martín’s eyebrows leap in surprise. “And?”

Edinson tilts his face away and looks up at the ceiling. “I found a way to make a blade from a piece of metal. I made it…just in case I ever needed to defend myself.” He brings a hand over his face and stays silent for a few moments. “What happened instead was that someone got hold of it and used it to stab me instead.”

“You couldn’t hurt someone even if you tried.” Martín lets out a low laugh.

Edinson turns to look at Martín and shoots him a dark look.

“Oh, I’ve hurt people, Martín.” He asserts unabashedly. “I’ve done a few things I’m not proud of. I feel like half the good I try to put out into the world…is me trying to make up for the years I was…” Edinson draws a sharp breath, exasperated, “…just mad at myself for being so stupid…and mad _everyone_.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” Martín withdraws his hand, “I feel like we all end up hurting the people around us, those we love, those closest to us…in _some_ way. Even when we don’t _mean_ to.”

“Here’s something I think about sometimes that I’m not proud of. I almost got one of my teachers fired.” Edinson rolls onto his side, resting his head over his forearm and looks at Martín. “I was failing his course, and he kept me after class—to talk to me about my poor grades.” Edinson lowers his eyes, “Anyway—he touched me. Not in _that_ way…but I complained about it…making it seem like he did. I still think about him…and how I would take it all back if I could.”

“Why’d you do it?” Martín lowers his eyes and licks his lips.

“I don’t know,” Edinson grimaces and sucks in a breath, shaking his head, “I think about it now, and it’s like I took it out on the wrong person. There may have been a few times where I couldn’t defend myself, but I was left with the urge to get back at some people, and…”

Edinson’s voice trails off when Martín raises a finger to his lips.

“Do you think of the past often? Wait. Scratch that,” Martín looks to the side briefly, as if rethinking his question, “I want to understand…what’s keeping you from thinking about what could be…instead of what you can’t change?”

Edinson closes his eyes for a moment and grins. “Don’t use that counseling stuff on me. I want you as a friend…not as a therapist.”

Martín smiles and his eyes narrow, creasing at the edges as he extends a finger to brush away an eyelash on Edinson’s face.

“I just worry about you sometimes.” He speaks low, almost whispering.

Edinson says nothing, he shifts his body, reclining on his back once more and looks up at the ceiling mirror, observing their reflection of their bodies splayed out on the bed. Martín looks up and coughs up a laugh.

“Who decorated the place? You or Diego?” Martín tilts his head and tucks one arm behind him.

“Who do you think?” Edinson asks facetiously. “Diego says I have no culture, so he made all the décor decisions as far as our apartment goes.”

“Well, tell Diego when you see him tomorrow morning that I think his style is trampy.”

“Trampy?” Edinson raises an eyebrow and grins mischeviously.

“Trampy.” Martín asserts, “Place looks like an upscale _telo_. The kind of place you go to bang bitches after getting smashed.”

Edinson shakes with laughter, eyes disappearing, and he grabs hold of Martín’s arm across his stomach.

Martín shrugs and smiles a slanted smile, “I mean who the fuck would hang a mirror overhead unless they’re into some freaky, tantric shit? Unless you’re both into that freaky tantric shit—” He gestures with his hand and makes a face, “Hey—_whatever suits you_.”

Martín pauses for a moment before he adds, “Look—if he treats you good and you’re happy—he can decorate the room to look like a _burdel_ for all that I care.”

Edinson lets out an airy laugh. “You know how we met, right?”

Martín raises his eyebrows and grins. “At a bar?”

Edinson shakes his head, “Not _quite_. I was looking to line up my dates for the week.” Edinson scratches the side of his face, “and I see this ad—from Diego—basically stating that he had broken off an engagement, wasn’t looking for anything serious and was looking for a date to spend a weekend by his beach house, all expenses paid. I was his boy toy first before we fell in love.”

“Wait—he threw change at your ass?” Martín asks, “Something’s off here…Isn’t he like a doctor of some sort? Guys like him can get sex at the drop of a hat.”

“Believe me, I thought it was fake when I saw it too. I figured let me give it a shot, you know?” Edinson licks his lips, “I always made sure to meet prospective dates in a public setting, have a drink with them to make sure there isn’t anything off about them. And you know…half the dates don’t work out. We’d disagree on a number of things, like the price or the kind of sex they were looking for, which I wasn’t willing to do. So if I needed to make a certain amount of money per week, I more or so less knew how many dates I had to score.”

“Did you ever go on a ‘date’” Martín raises his hands to gesture air quotes, “where you didn’t have to fuck anyone and still got paid?”

Martín looks on and notices Edinson is starting to dwindle. He shifts closer, draping an arm over him to draw him close.

“A few of my dates were like that.” Edinson responds, voice fading, “I’d say 10 or so percent of them? They just wanted someone to spend time with. We’d go to the movies, or go to the Opera…you know, fun, casual stuff. Maybe some kissing…some light touching…and I’d get paid.” He brings a hand over his face and rubs his eyes.

Silence hangs between them, except the sound of their breathing.

“I know you are against it…sex work, that is…but it paid the rent.” Edinson speaks, barely above a whisper, “It paid the bills and it put me on a path where it made me a better person. I understand people better…and judge them less.”

“Let’s try to sleep.” Martín whispers.

Edinson closes his eyes, “Sure,” he mumbles.

Martín looks on as Edinson’s expression softens and his breathing relaxes. There was an odd satisfaction watching whatever points of tension he held on to his face earlier dissolve as he sank into sleep.

Martín holds out just for a few moments longer, mulling over everything they talked about before he gives in.

They fall asleep, holding each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 9 January 2021, I added 38 words and made minor edits.
> 
> This chapter is purposely centered on Martín and Edinson. More details about their lives become known to elaborate on their character.
> 
> The chapters that ensue begin to deal with much heavier topics as we are edging close to Leandro's trial. I will include warnings in the beginning of my chapter notes for those that may wish to skip or gloss over some disturbing descriptions of violence.
> 
> Thank you to each of my readers for following me this far and for your support.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> It has taken me sometime to update this work. Apologies to anyone following this story. The last few months have been tough in terms of finding time and the headspace to write fic. Also, many of the themes (police corruption, abuses within the prison/court/legal system, etc) have made it difficult to think about given the rise of protests and the call for abolishing the police. I'm currently based out in NYC, and the violence and riots in my city led a judge to suspend habeas corpus (allowing police to detain you without any reason indefinitely) and the mayor to mandate a curfew (it's been lifted already, thank God.). I had nights where I would wake up in cold sweats and have panic attacks just hearing the helicopters at night. I can't say things have improved, but human resilience is a remarkable thing. We find ways to adapt to all kinds of situations. I'm still working and pushing through in spite of the pandemic, the protests against racial injustice, inequity and police brutality.
> 
> The times we are living in call for a careful reflection and action. I feared for the longest that it would be inappropriate and insensitive to work on this piece (which touches upon police corruption), without approaching the themes with tact. I had to set it aside and think long and hard about its execution.
> 
> If you haven’t lost interest in this fic, and somehow are still with me, thank you for your readership. It means the world to me.

“Something doesn’t add up.” Edinson addresses Luis as he pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket. “Sorry—excuse me.” He sighs as he lowers his eyes briefly to see who’s calling him. He decides Diego can wait, and looks back up at Luis. “Something doesn’t add up. Even you would have to agree.” Edinson taps his hand over his files.

Luis leans back into his chair and brings his hand over his mouth while he looks away pensively.

“Their testimonies don’t align. One of them has to be lying.” Edinson continues speaking.

“Look—Icardi agreed to fully cooperate with our office.” Luis sits up and leans forward, “We told him we would reduce his sentence if he was willing to give us information that led to the arrest and conviction of—”

“The evidence you have against my client from Icardi’s testimony alone is circumstantial at best,” Edinson cuts Luis off, “You have no concrete proof to back Icardi’s testimony that Paredes was involved in the distribution of narcotics, or to lend any support to the far-fetched idea that he tried to loop in Dybala—given his expertise—to launder any ill-gotten money. My honest recommendation is that you drop Icardi’s—”

“Let the jury decide.” Luis interrupts as he closes his files and motions to store them away in his cabinet. “Let them decide if Icardi’s testimony should be given any weight to make their final decision.”

“You will just be wasting valuable time,” Edinson closes the file in front of him, “My client fully admits to the murder of Chief Inspector López. I don’t see how Icardi’s testimony adds anything of value the jury may need to decide—”

“You don’t get to decide your client’s fate.” Luis raises his voice to impose himself, “Neither do I. Our jobs are just to present the facts and let the jury decide whether—”

“Whether my client deserves the death penalty? On slanderous _hearsay_ evidence?” Edinson rises from his seat, “You know how the jury has a limited attention span. This is just extraneous information that is only peripherally related to the case. It’s in your best interest to present a focused case instead of throwing everything you’ve got on my client, including the kitchen sink.”

“I think the fact you are so insistent that I retract Icardi’s testimony is reason enough to include it.” Luis lowers his eyes and makes note of the time. “Alright. I think this concludes everything we needed to discuss. I’m going to initiate the motion to start the jury selection early next week. So, it’s fair to say we can set the tentative date to start the trial in two weeks?”

Edinson exhales quietly and looks down at his file over Luis’ desk. “Sure. In two weeks.” He raises his eyes and smiles a tight smile.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m so ready to grab a drink. This whole day has been a shitshow.” Luis mutters as he adjusts the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder.

They drive out to an Irish pub on _barrio __Palermo_ on Luis’ recommendation. _Sláinte_. A relatively sophisticated place that attracted young professionals. Perhaps more importantly so, a bar that wasn’t saturated by lawyers.

“Everyone I know likes to go to _Rey de Copas_ or the other gringo-wannabe _cheto_ bars.” Luis smiles a wide, toothy grin as he sets down his briefcase in the chair next to him. “I come here to get away from all that noise.”

Edinson takes off his suit jacket and takes the seat across from Luis.

“Isn’t this a gringo-wannabe place?” Edinson loosens his tie and looks around, eyes scanning overhead as he takes note of the framed rugby jerseys, signed and dedicated by notable players.

“It’s as gringo as _gringo_ can be. Definitely not a copy-cat, wannabe place like the others.” Luis contests as he takes off his suit jacket. “You can’t get more fucking Irish than this place. Not in all of fucking Buenos Aires.”

“Why’d you come here then? I thought you hated these kind of places.” Edinson unbuttons his shirt cuffs and begins rolling his sleeves back. There was nothing that marked the end of the workday like being able to get out of the rigidity of his work attire.

“They serve good scotch.” Luis grins and shrugs disinterestedly. “An old lawyer friend of mine I met at a conference—_Stevie_. Stevie Gerrard. _God_, I wonder what that motherfucker is up to these days.” Luis looks away briefly and smiles, rapping his knuckles against the hard wood tabletop. “You would’ve liked the guy.” Luis huffs, “Anyway—he introduced me to this place. He wanted to go to somewhere where he could feel at home and grab a good scotch. He’d tried our _fernet _the night before and it fucked him up.”

Edinson looks down and smiles wide, shoulders shaking, and he laughs quietly.

“Fernet is an acquired taste,” he shakes his head, “I agree—it betrays you and it gets to your head quick.”

“I already know what I want. Dewar’s. I certainly deserve the good stuff tonight.” Luis scratches the side of his face. “Do you know what you want?”

“I’m going to go for an old fashioned.” Edinson rests his elbows on the table as he rubs his eyes with both hands.

They’re waited on shortly after settling in and they order their drinks. Luis hands over his debit card to open up a tab and assures Edi that whatever he’d be having that evening was on him.

“I need to get this off my chest.” Edinson crosses his arms in front of him as he leans forward. “From my understanding, this is a _business_ meeting. You wanted to discuss legal matters and get my opinion—so I don’t understand your need to drop comments like you did the day before on how I was never a cheap date, or how lucky you were that you fucked me for free.”

Luis lowers his eyes and grins, tapping the palm of his hand against the table as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“I figured I’d try to call in a favor and get your opinion—which I respect—without having to pay consultation fees. It’s not like we’re _strangers_.” Luis clears his throat and sips his drink. “We used to be close.”

“I was your _boyfriend_ all throughout law school and after we graduated. I never once charged you—”

“You stole from me, Edi.” Luis cuts him off, “You just became someone _unrecognizable_,” he scoffs, “I can tell you exactly when it all happened too. It was right around the time your junkie friend got arrested and you used our savings. Our _fucking_ savings—without telling me—to bail him out.”

Edinson opens his mouth as if he wants to say something but Luis gestures with his hand that he wasn’t finished saying his part.

“We had no fucking way to pay the rent the next month. I was pissed and I said a lot of shit I didn’t mean. When I told you I wanted that money back—even if it meant having to sell your ass, I didn’t think you’d do it. _Literally_.”

“I did eventually get the money to pay our rent and I did return the money I had to borrow—didn’t I?” Edinson counters as he takes a sip. “I earned that money back fairly and legally. I mean Luis—how else did you expect me to get money like that so quickly?”

Luis lets out an exasperated sigh and makes a dismissive gesture before he sips on his drink. He runs his tongue alongside his cheek to gather his thoughts.

“You do what normal people do, Edi. Get a loan. Borrow money from friends and family. Get a real fucking job. You could have been working at the DA’s office like me and not work those criminal defense cases that paid you next to nothing and then that restaurant gig that was so beneath you.” Luis sets down his glass and leans forward. “That’s what you could have done. Not bend over for some random stranger throwing money at you to fuck you in the ass.” Luis takes another sip and presses his lips together, nostrils flaring as he exhales sharply through his nose.

Edinson bites down hard on the inside of his lip. He wasn’t going to bite the bait. Luis, after all, had a selective memory when it came to arguing to prove his points. Luis would make it seem like he had betrayed him when he found out how he had turned to sex work to make ends meet. The truth was that they had both fallen out of love—that’s if anyone could call whatever it was that they had between them love. They were living together out of familiarity and convenience. Many of their fights emerged from the growing differences between them. It became more evident that they wanted different things, and the distance they felt growing between them was a reflection of how they didn’t share the same values.

“I still think sex work should be criminalized. It results in a significant financial burden to the state and it is a health hazard.” Luis scrunches his face in disgust.

“_Look_. I already had that conversation with you—the one about exhausting all options? You make it sound easy when you know that’s not really the case. Anyway—enough on that. But let me say that sex work is still _work_, Luis.” Edinson runs his hand over his hair, “And all the issues you raise? There would be none if sex workers were extended the same rights and protections as—”

“You already know what my stance is. I didn’t bring you here to convince me that it’s a noble profession.” Luis brings his fist down against the table, “There’s nothing dignified about letting strangers pay you to pretend you love them enough to let them—”

“Sex has nothing to do with love, Luis.” Edinson places his hand over Luis’ fist. “Sex is more related to desire than it is to love.”

Luis looks at him questioningly and Edinson smiles facetiously.

“Have you ever masturbated out of a need for love?” Edinson looks at Luis squarely and narrows his eyes, “I’d believe you if you told me you’ve done it to temporarily satisfy your passion or lust…but not out of a need for love.”

Luis lowers his eyes and brings his glass to his lips to drink.

“Alright. Another example. Love is more…like a longing that can’t be satisfied. With sex, you know that your desire will be satisfied after completing the act. There’s nothing to long for after you provide an outlet to your desire.” Edinson withdraws his hand and crosses his arms in front of him once more. “And where love is more concerned with being redeemed…and being truly seen by another and deemed worthy…” he brings his hand over his mouth and runs his thumb over his lower lip in a pensive manner, “…sex wants what’s _forbidden_. It cares to fulfill fantasies…and nothing more.”

“Whether it’s selling love or a fuck—it’s a nasty enterprise. You can’t convince me there’s any dignity in that line of work.” Luis scratches the side of his face.

“I never said that sex work was dignified. But sex workers do have dignity and they deserve the same rights and respect as any other person that puts in honest work.” Edinson sighs.

“Alright, so this is actually getting to what I wanted to talk to you about.” Luis lowers his brow. “I got handed a case—and I’m prosecuting this guy for multiple counts of rape. Several of his victims are whores. All whores he’d paid for their time, mind you. I’m looking at their testimonies, and I was like—is it possible to get raped when you already agreed to have sex with a client?”

Edinson sucks in a breath through clenched teeth.

“Yes, Luis. It’s possible.”

“But how?” Luis leans forward. “I mean—you get down to business where you agree to fuck for whatever amount—”

“Here’s the thing,” Edinson interjects, “When I did sex work, I met with a potential client in a public setting—like we are right now—and I’d get a sense of the kind of person they are and they’d tell me what they wanted. I already had a clear idea of what I was willing and not willing to do, and I’d tell them up front. If I agreed to do what they’d want, I’d negotiate a price. If they agreed to my price, we’d check in to a _telo_ and that’s all there was to it.”

“So you’re saying there’s cases where clients would force a whore to do something they said they wouldn’t do?” Luis asks.

Edinson nods and sips on his drink. “That’s precisely it. It’s a risk you run into.”

Luis lowers his eyes and bites the inside of his lip. He stays silent for a moment, enjoying his drink.

“Were you ever raped?” Luis asks point blankly. It’s a question Edinson doesn’t expect and it makes him feel as if the air around him was too hot and dense to breathe in comfortably.

“What’s that?” Edinson asks as he unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt.

Luis rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed about having to repeat himself. “Were you ever raped—did that ever happen to you when you went out whoring?”

Edinson bites down on his lower lip and throws Luis a dark look.

“I’d prefer you didn’t use the word _‘whore’_ when referring to sex workers.”

Luis grimaces and runs his hand over his face. “Fine then.” he sighs, “So has it ever happened to you? Any one of your _tíos_ flip on you in the middle of doing whatever or use force?”

Edinson lowers his eyes, focusing on the texture of the napkins their server laid out on their table as his thoughts drift back to that time. It’s been four years ago. It wasn’t work he particularly enjoyed, though it paid well. A lot of his memories from this time all felt hazy. Like fragments from a nearly forgotten dream. If anything—if he’s truly being honest with himself—he didn’t experience anywhere near the level of coercion or abuse from any of his clients like he has with his current partner, Diego.

He hadn’t fully acknowledged how Diego had patiently eroded away at his dignity throughout their time together. For every time he’d do something to hurt, humiliate or degrade him, he’d counter it with some elaborate gift or surprise to make up for, or buy his excuse for it. The time Diego had pressured him to have sex with one of his acquaintances to satisfy some quasi voyeuristic, cuckhold fantasy—Diego had promised to help him finance his own studio to set up his private practice. The thing with Diego was that _knew_ how to identify his needs and he knew when to exploit them. It was difficult to backpedal with him—saying ‘no’ to something he had previously said ‘yes’ to, once Diego had been able to prove how all it took for him to participate in certain sexual acts was just a question of how he framed his propositions. If he couldn’t get him to consent with an elaborate gift, Diego would weaponize guilt—manipulating him emotionally. More worrisome still, as of late, Diego wasn’t shying away from using force. Often simply taking what he wanted as if he felt entitled to it. The sex Edinson was once able to enjoy giving and receiving freely had gone back to being negotiated transactions and seldom pleasurable. If he thought he had stopped selling his body, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

_Yes_. Edinson thinks to himself, fiddling with his engagement band, avoiding eye contact. _You could say that it happened_.

Edinson swallows hard and quickly brings his glass to his lips. He holds the drink in his mouth, savoring the bitters before swallowing. It goes down smooth and he raises his eyes to look back at Luis.

“Excuse me. I just need to use the restroom.” He sighs, rising from his seat as he motions to a nearby waiter and asks him where the restrooms were located.

Edinson locks the door behind him and turns the faucet on to wash his hands. He keeps his eyes lowered to avoid looking at himself in the bathroom mirror and focuses on his hands, washing away the residual soap suds. He cups his hand to collect cold water and brings it over his face. He shuts off the water shortly after, and wipes away the residual wetness on his face, inhaling deeply.

He looks down at his engagement band and he slides it off his ring finger in one swift motion.

☼

The getaway Diego had planned for them is anything but the kind of break Edinson wants. But he knew this beforehand. Still. He hopes he can carve out a space where he can enjoy time on his own, savoring the _marplatense_ sun while walking along the shoreline, or reading a book by the poolside in Diego’s vacation house. When they arrive, he unpacks his belongings and helps Diego stock up the refrigerator before heading to the backyard pool to unwind after a long, three hour drive. He sits on the edge, soaking his legs and hopes he can have a few minutes just to himself. He needs a few moments to process the fact that Diego had ordered one of his horses to be euthanized instead of retiring it—without saying a word to him about it.

Along the way to the vacation house, they stopped by the horse ranch where Diego kept several of his horses bred for polo. Diego had a passion for polo, and would play recreationally on the weekends. He also had friends who played professionally, and he would loan out his horses from time to time. Edinson would drive out to this ranch and volunteer to groom or exercise the horses whenever he needed to clear his head, or put some distance between himself and his work. Being in a natural setting, working alongside the horses put him at ease in a way other activities didn’t. Of all of the horses Diego owned, he developed a special bond with _Mecha_, a beautiful stallion with an idiosyncratic white mark on his forehead resembled a torch. Hence, the name.

Most people who don't have the privilege to work with horses will never realize what incredibly intelligent animals they are, or marvel at their ability to display a wide array of emotions to communicate with humans. Upon arrival to the stables, Edinson would extend his palm out and Mecha would lean into his hand, his muzzle actively searching to be stroked and caressed. He would look into Mecha’s large dark eyes and note how his ears would twitch back with contentment. It became apparent after working with Mecha, that they had formed an emotional bond, though it was difficult to convince Diego of it when they’d exchange brief recaps of their days. Diego only saw the utility of horses in their ability to perform. He didn’t concern himself much with their welfare or their emotional lives.

Horses bred for sport often pick up injuries or they age out. While Diego had the option to transfer Mecha to a ranch that looked after retired horses, Diego made the decision to have him euthanized. Edinson expressed his vehemence to Diego upon learning that Mecha was gone. Nothing could be done, as the decision had been made a week ago. No amount of shouting or crying would overturn what had been done. He lingered by Mecha’s stable. Empty. Reins, brushes and grooming tools hanging idly. He couldn’t help himself but cry that morning. But perhaps what gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t soothe was that all of this meant nothing to Diego. Nothing.

Edinson watches as the sunlight scatters and bends over the water, casting an irregular shimmer over his lower legs, submerged underwater. He was wondering when the best time would be to announce to Diego of his wish to break up their engagement. In just the span of a week, he felt as if he had gotten more than enough signs to end things between them. It would only be a matter of time until Diego no longer saw any utility in him as he had with Mecha.

It hurts enough to realize that this whole time, despite everything they had gone through, he had failed to convince Diego to love him as he once loved him. Diego would only regard him as a sex object. It’s a role he can fall into with ease—being the object of desire—but knows for sure it isn’t one he wishes to remain as. Desire has a finite energy. Once Diego had decided he no longer sated his lust—what else could they cling onto to build a life together?

Would it be best to wait until the end of this weekend to announce the breakup? Would it be best to wait at least until the trial had ended?

Edinson extends one of his legs and watches the as the serene mirror-like illusion is shattered, sending out a series of ripples unfurling over the water’s surface. He doesn’t know how he’d get his life together when he depended so much on Diego, but he figures he’ll work it out somehow. He would get by as he had always done before.

When he hears Diego approach him from behind, he pretends to not notice and jumps into the pool. He submerges fully, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing out of his nose to prevent water from going up in the first place. He tilts his head back as he breaks the water’s surface and runs a hand over his face while treading water.

“I thought you could use one.” Diego extends his arm holding out a drink. From the look of the glass and the muddled mint leaves, Edinson guesses it’s a mojito. Diego sets it down by the poolside and subsequently takes a seat, dipping his legs into the water.

“Thanks,” is all that Edinson can say as he swims to the edge, resting his forearms by the gutters. “but I’m not in the mood for one.”

“I was hoping we could use this time to relax. To set aside time to be with each other like we used to.” Diego addresses him before he lowers himself fully into the water. He motions with his head, a prompt to get Edinson to swim out to more shallow water where they could talk at ease.

They swim out to the other side and Diego lowers his hand, grasping Edinson’s upper thigh, slowly working up to the curve of his backside.

“You can relax now. Whatever had you wound up, it’s hundreds of kilometers away from this place.” Diego whispers as he grasps at one of his cheeks.

When Diego leans in to kiss him, Edinson shuts his eyes and thinks of something else.

☼

Diego falls asleep shortly after a vigorous fuck, and Edinson climbs out of bed to wash himself of the mess Diego had made of him. He stands under the shower head, letting the water cleanse him of Diego’s scent and the sour musky smell of their sex lingering on his skin. As he runs his hand over his chest, he thinks of Leandro.

They would pick out the jury next week, and his trial would begin the following week. He brings up a mental image of Leandro and tries to estimate what his measurements would be for a suit. The court often had suit donations that prisoners could borrow to look presentable at court. But Edinson already knew these cheap, polyester suits more often than not didn’t flatter the inmates.

Over time, prison changes inmate’s bodies. Most of them lost significant weight—and so when they’d try on a suit, it would look as if they were swimming in the fabric. It looked anything but professional—and these details _mattered_.

Edinson makes a mental note to bring measuring tape with him this upcoming Monday he had scheduled to meet with Leandro. Leandro wouldn’t borrow a suit. He would have his own. Tailored specifically to him.

Edinson reaches for the body wash and inhales the woodsy fragrance of pine. It’s not what he typically uses, but this will have to do.

He steps out and dries himself thoroughly. He makes a grab for one of the bathrobes—one with a light, airy fabric that felt cool against his skin and he drapes it on hastily. He decides to step outside and sit in the backyard. It’s not every day he gets to escape the noise and pollution of Buenos Aires and really marvel at the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 9 January 2021, I made very minor edits.
> 
> I've outlined my story, and so far, if I manage to craft this out like I originally planned to, there are eight chapters left (each would be about 4 K - 5K words). After the jury selection and the trial, things are going to get pretty depressing and dark. I am trying to figure out how to balance out the angst to make it to the end where I try to make it right for Edinson after dragging him through hell. Believe me when I tell you that some of these segments hurt to write. I don't know why I decided to write this prompt sometimes. There are days I regret it. Anyway. Now I've got to finish what I've started ;-;
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Sunday afternoon was supposed to be a relaxing, sensual moment by the poolside. Diego tucks back a lock of hair behind Edinson’s ear before securing a white gardenia blossom in his hair. He caresses the side of his face and runs his thumb over his lips, pressing on them gently to part them open.

“Love that pretty mouth and the things it does.” He whispers.

Edinson looks to the side when he sees Diego closing in, planting a series of light kisses alongside his jawline.

What Diego tells him doesn’t turn him on. It feels wrong. It doesn’t make him melt into his touch or provide any encouragement to ease into a wantonness to match Diego’s lust. And it’s not like Diego doesn’t usually talk dirty to him. The subtext of their everyday exchanges usually carried some sexual banter.

Where it used to be safe, perhaps even fun to show Diego how he too could take pleasure in licentious sex—it no longer _feels_ that way. It hasn’t felt that way for a long time. All he can think about were all of the instances he had put up with Diego’s abuses and how he re-wrote these instances in his mind as moments where Diego got carried away by passion.

Earlier that morning, he learned that Diego had taken another lover. Something he had suspected for sometime, but couldn’t prove. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and he was awakened by the feeling of Diego grasping his hipbone to steady him while he slid into him. In the throes of passion, Edinson heard Diego calling him by someone else’s name—and a part of him was relieved then, that Diego was taking him from behind, unable to see his face while he grimaced. Humiliated. He couldn’t make himself respond right then and braced himself, burying his face against his pillow until Diego had finished. Moments later, while he washed himself, he thought about how every passing day he willingly stays with Diego makes him hate himself. He can’t say he likes person he’s become. Tolerating more and more. Where was his self-respect?

Freezing is a reflexive response to fear. An attempt at self-preservation. The tactic is to survive by staying in place, making oneself appear small and staying still to go unnoticed—a tactic that’s been proven to work to thwart a predator. However, there are situations that calls for one to flee—to escape. The inability to shake off the paradoxical instinct to survive by staying in place when one should be running as fast and as far as one can, results in one _becoming_ prey.

Edinson has to ask himself then, what was he afraid of? What did he fear losing by not holding out any longer and breaking off the engagement? He had been through much worse and somehow managed to come out of it. Why is he having trouble finding his voice?

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Diego grasps his forearm and yanks him towards him to hold him close. He sinks his teeth into a sensitive spot by his neck, both hands grasping his backside possessively. Edinson shuts his eyes and swallows hard when Diego lowers the waistband of his swimsuit, exposing his ass.

“I could fuck you right here, right now. Out here in the open.” Diego hisses, and Edinson winces, pressing both hands against Diego’s chest.

“Everything alright?” Diego scans his face.

Edinson lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “Let’s talk inside?”

An expression washes over Diego’s face as if he somewhat had an idea of what Edinson wanted to discuss and quickly hides it with a smile. He brings both hands to either side of his face and leans forward to kiss his forehead.

“What I feel for him…is nothing like what I feel with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. And it’s over. I promise you it was a short-term thing and it’s over.”

“Maybe if we had this conversation a week ago, or even before we took off Saturday morning, I’d still care to listen. Maybe even try to understand why you did it.” Edinson raises his eyes, hands reaching behind him to pull up and adjust the waistband of his swimsuit. “But it’s too late for that now, Diego.”

Edinson’s mouth hangs open, eyes darting to the side, taking a moment to reach deep within to find his courage. He looks at Diego’s eyes but not into them.

“I want to break off the engagement.”

Diego’s eyebrows leap in surprise, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, unable to contain his bewilderment. He looks away, at nowhere in particular and he briefly licks his lips, gesturing with his head to Edinson to take the conversation inside.

“Edi, my love, if this is about Guillermo—I can _explain_.”

“I’m not asking for an explanation for why you’ve been fucking him when you’ve already declared your intention to marry me. Like I said, if we had sat down to have this conversation earlier, I probably would have cared to listen then—try to hash things out. But not anymore. I just…don’t want to be with you anymore, Diego.”

Diego looks down and nods, bringing his hands over his hips.

“Why don’t we take a break instead? What do you say?” Diego raises his eyes, “We’ve been together, for what—four years now? That’s probably the longest I’ve ever been with someone…and maybe some distance might do the both of us some good. See other people…to get a better perspective. Hmm?”

“Except I don’t think I need a break to make up my mind about what it is that I want…because I already know what I want.” Edinson gently tugs at the gardenia blossom tucked behind his ear and looks down to admire it, “Look, we took it as far as we could, and I’m more than certain by now that I could never be happy with you.”

Diego reaches out and grasps Edinson’s wrist—jerking him toward him. Edinson unwittingly drops the gardenia blossom, which falls by his feet.

“We went through this before as a couple. We’ve had our ups and downs and yet managed to stay together. Do you want to throw all those years away? Everything we’ve gone through?”

Edinson gestures his arm in a sharp downward snap to break out of Diego’s grip.

“Diego...we’re very different people. We don’t want the same things. We don’t value the same things—”

“No one will give you what I can give you or let alone _love_ you like I have.” Diego counters, “With your past? Tell me—who would want to be with you after you inevitably tell them you used to be a whore? Any decent person who is worth it will leave you. I guarantee it.”

“Love me? Like _you_ do? Diego, I can’t even get you to _respect_ me.” Edinson scoffs.

“I bought you out of that life. I’ve never held it against you—the fact you were a whore, that is. In fact, it’s what I most love about you.”

“You bought me out? All you did was make me your personal—you know what? Forget it.” Edinson lets out an exasperated sigh. “Just…just _listen_ to yourself. You’re telling me that you _love_ the fact I used to be so desperate—that I arranged dates with perverted men just to pay off debts and make a living?” Edinson raises his voice, eyes narrowing with derision, “Is that all there is to love about me? Not the fact that that I practice law? That I have dreams—that I have dreams and ambitions of my own?” Edinson feels his voice faltering with too much emotion caught in his throat. “What about the fact that I loved you? Because I really did love you, Diego.”

“My love,” Diego brings the palm of his hand against Edinson’s face, “you would not have your own practice if it weren’t for me.” Diego’s hand trails down to Edinson’s throat, “Remember I helped finance your studio. At an excellent location too. Wouldn’t it be shameful…if we break up and I asked for my share of everything I’ve invested?”

Edinson’s eyes rivet towards Diego’s face as he gasps.

“I forget how your throat is so _pretty_…like the rest of you. It fits so perfectly in my hands.” Diego pauses, as if pretending to think about something deeply. He momentarily tightens his grip, a gesture that makes Edinson visibly shake and raise both hands to pry Diego’s hand away. Diego laughs facetiously and withdraws his hand before shoving Edinson towards the sofa right behind him, his feet trampling the gardenia blossom as he walks to sit beside him.

“I could work out a deal to let you keep the studio, but given everything you’ve told me recently, I highly doubt you’re going to like this proposition.” Diego grins. “Remember my dear friend Viggo? The associate dean of the medical school? He was interested in you. _Very interested_.” Diego pauses for a moment, “He’d offered me a faculty position at the academy despite having no teaching experience. A _very_ generous offer...” Diego grasps Edinson’s chin to tilt his face towards him, “…on the condition that I loan you to him for a night.”

Edinson narrows his eyes and looks away. _You never considered that I should have a say in this?_, he thinks. _He’s a pervert and a jerk. There’s no way I’d ever fuck him._

Diego runs a gentle hand over Edinson’s hair, searching for his eyes that refuse to meet his.

“You know me. I don’t really like to share what’s mine, unless there’s something in it for me.” Diego speaks to him low and soft, feigning tenderness as he brushes the back of his hand against the side of Edinson’s face. “You’ve pleased me, Edi. I thought what I offered you did too. I know I can’t force you to stay with me. So go. If that’s what you wish.” Diego takes Edinson’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of his hand, “But if you want to keep your studio…you have only two options. Repay me or keep Viggo company for a night.” Edinson withdraws his hand and looks at Diego in disbelief. “I recommend the latter.” Diego says flippantly as he brings his hand over Edinson’s thigh and offers a squeeze.

“You’re basically forcing me to sell the studio.” Edinson pushes his hand away, “I’ll have to fire my employees. They have nothing to do with us breaking up—and they need time to start looking for a new job. Diego—I’m in the middle of a high-profile case! Please…don’t _do_ this to me.”

Diego tilts his head back, smiling in a self-assured manner.

“I’ll pass on Viggo’s contact information,” He says as he rises walk begins walking towards the window. “No one is forcing you to do anything. It’s up to you to relinquish the studio or if you want to give him a call.” Diego yanks the curtains shut.

“Though I will say…you’d be foolish to forego the choice where it will be a win-win for us, don’t you think?”

☼

On their way back to Buenos Aires, when he and Diego pull over by a rest stop, Edinson pauses to text Martín:

** _ I broke it off with Diego._ **

** **

** _ He wants me gone by the end_ **

** _ of the week and I need a place _ **

** _ to stay. Just for a little while _ **

** _ until I get back up on my feet._ ** ** **

** **

** _ No pressure if you can’t._ **

Edinson walks back to Diego’s car. It’s his turn to drive and he drops his phone between his legs. Diego begins making his way back from the kiosk, and Edi brings his hand over his face to hide the fact his eyes are starting to well. He wants to cry out of anger. Cry over how overwhelming and unfair the situation is, but he doesn’t want to give Diego the satisfaction of seeing him look any more defeated than he is. He feels the incoming buzz of text message alerts just minutes later.

Martín sends him back:

** _Wait—waaa??? _ **

** _This is totally out of left field._ ** ** **

** **

** _Sure man. _ **

** _You’re welcome to my space _ **

** _for as long as you need to._ **

☼

Edinson allows himself to fall back on Martín’s bed and his eyes look to the ceiling, at no spot in particular. He thinks for a moment of how disentangling himself completely from Diego’s life wouldn’t be easy, but he can’t let any of this consume him. Not with the trial starting next week.

Earlier that evening, he had spent time packing the essentials. He transferred all the material pertinent to the Paredes case into boxes, and placed them all in his trunk. He packed a bag of clothes and his toiletries—just the essentials—before driving to Martín’s. He’d come back to reclaim the rest of his belongings later. His priorities now are to Leandro, whom he’s meeting Monday and the jury _voir dire_ scheduled later that week on Thursday. Between then, he’d have to look for an apartment and figure out if there was another way he could get Diego back the money he’d spent to buy his studio and remodel it.

Martín takes a seat beside him and slowly reclines, huddling close beside him.

“What’s on your mind?” Martín bring a hand towards his face to rub his eyes. He’s just as tired, if not more tired than Edinson.

Edinson rolls to his side, facing away from Martín. He wants respond with something cynical along the lines of, “_Do you really want to know, or are you just asking out of obligation?_,” but he stops himself. He doesn’t want to take his frustration out on Martín—_on Martín of all people_—who was extending a helping hand when he asked for it at such short notice.

“Have you ever stayed in a situation for far too long, even when you knew it wasn’t good for you?” Edinson asks, voice slightly muffled from pressing the side his face against the comforter.

“Have I?” Martín titters and brings an arm behind his head, “My man, that’s nearly my whole life. Being in places where the vibe was wrong but staying anyway. Doing shit I knew was wrong, bringing my old lady grief—taking her to an early grave. Going in and out of jail over petty crimes. Hanging out with the wrong kind of people.” He sighs, “I had very few people I could look up to and tell me that I was worthy. And just because I was hurt and angry…that my life didn’t have to go to shit.”

Martín pauses for a moment and tilts his head to the side, facing Edinson.

“Was it really that bad? What happened between you and Diego? Because you had me fooled for a hot minute. I was here thinking for the longest it was a match made in heaven.”

“I should have left him years ago. I should have just got up and left after he solicited me that first time. He really fucked me up, Tincho.” Edinson chokes back a sob, “Worse still—I let him fuck me up.”

Martín rolls to his side, shifting closer to Edinson and extends a hand, running it over the length of his forearm as a soothing gesture.

_You keep so much to yourself, you make it hard to help you sometimes_. Martín thinks to himself. Now is not the time to hash out what Edinson could have or should have done. He didn’t need additional help to feel worse about himself. He’s in need of comfort. The focus should be on his feelings. Nothing else.

“You couldn’t have known from just one encounter…that someone would end up being really bad for you.” Martín responds, and he slides his arm over his chest, embracing Edinson from behind, “What did he do? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Edinson turns his head to face Martín.

“Have you ever met a person who’d hurt you, but then tell you they did it because they loved you?” Edinson’s eyes scan Martín’s face for signs of responsiveness, “Or while they’re doing or saying something that hurts, they’ll do it in such a way you don’t even realize how you’re being abused on the spot?”

“Give me an example.” Martín hugs him tighter, “I think I know what you’re talking about, but I want to understand the kind of shit he put you through.”

“There’s just too many examples to list,” Edinson winces, sucking a breath between clenched teeth, “I don’t know if it will do any good to list all the ways he’s hurt me…but if you need an example…” Edinson trails off and he looks to the side.

Martín presses a kiss to Edinson’s temple. “If talking about this is going to hurt you…you don’t have to—”

“Just to give you an example—I was trying to break up with him…” Edinson finds his voice, “And the things he told me felt like a knife he kept twisting at my side…and while he was doing that, he’d run his hands through my hair, caress my face…press a kiss to my hand…all without ever raising his voice at me. Speaking low and soft as if he were saying sweet nothings to a lover.” Edinson shifts his eyes to look at Martín and signals to him to withdraw his arm so he could turn around. “It was things like that…that made me wonder if _I_ was the one with the problem. If _I_ was the one being difficult. It was things like that…that made me reluctant to bring things up to him. He had an answer to everything to justify all the ways he abused me.”

Edinson rolls onto his back and shifts to his side, facing Martín. He rests his head over his arm and continues.

“Now imagine this kind of abuse while having sex.” Edinson’s voice softens to barely above a whisper. “He’d do things that hurt and tell me how good I was for him. How well I could take it.” He lowers his eyes and says nothing for a minute. He picks the lint on Martín’s shirt, while straining his face to not cry. “It took me years to admit that many of the times we’ve been intimate...we weren’t making love. I was being raped.”

Martín grimaces and presses his lips together, letting out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“I’m sorry you went through that. You’re free of him now…and you can now focus on yourself.” Martín presses the palm of his hand against the side of Edinson’s face and kisses his forehead. “I can’t say I went through anything just like that myself…but I’ve met my fair share of sick fucks who get pleasure seeing how other people hurt. It’s enjoyable to them, when they’re not the ones experiencing the pain.”

“I stayed with him for four years. _Four_ years.” Edinson raises his hand to scratch the side of his face. “I can’t forgive myself for that—for not leaving sooner.”

“Shhhhh—” Martín hushes him. “Don’t focus on why you didn’t leave sooner. The important thing is that you _left_. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You even said how the way he treated you made you doubt your own experiences.”

Edinson punches Martín’s shoulder and he grabs a fistful of his shirt before he buries his face into the crook of his neck. He lets out a broken, strangled out sob, and Martín holds the back of his head.

“The lifestyle…was nice. Knowing I could have anything I wanted…without having to worry about money…was nice.” Edinson speaks in between sobs, “Being able to have my own practice…I mean—that right there? That meant _everything _to me.”

Martín runs his hand over the back of Edinson’s head and rocks him gently. It was a situation where there was nothing he could say to soothe the pain. It all needed to come out, like a long overdue confession. All he needed to do was listen.

“I traded my dignity…my body…for all that.” Edinson continues, with an effort on his part to compose himself, “I was basically a high-end prostitute for him…for all those years.”

Martín hold him tighter and closes his eyes.

“And now I’ve lost everything.”

☼

They stay up talking for an hour longer. Edinson tells Martín about the difficult bind between having to choose between selling his practice to give Diego back the money he’s spent on him, or sleeping with his friend as part of a deal which would ensure Diego a faculty position at the Medical school and also let him keep his studio. Martín adamantly insists that there had to be another way around it. Another option that would allow him to keep his practice. Anything but give Diego what he wanted—a tactic to continue controlling and humiliating him after breaking up.

“My client’s trial starts next week. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. A time where I need to be laser-focused to ensure my client gets the best possible outcome.” Edinson pauses to sip on the _manzanilla_ tea Martín had made to help them relax and fall asleep.

“So focus just on that.” Martín responds, stirring a spoonful of honey in his tea, “I can lend a hand helping you search for a new place. I can ask if we can get your studio refinanced…that way you can pay Diego back with the difference of what it’s now worth.” Martín tosses the spoon into his kitchen sink. “Fuck—I know people who’d gladly slash his tires and key his car for fun.”

Edinson lowers his eyes and smiles wide. His usual smile that’s bright enough to light up the room.

“You never look more beautiful than when you smile,” Martin’s eyes narrow as he sips on his tea. “I swear—you become a completely different person.”

After a short silent pause, Edinson speaks up.

“Thanks, Tincho,” he puts down his mug and walks over to embrace Martín, “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me today.”

Later that evening, while Martín sets aside a set of pillows and a comforter for Edinson to make his bed on his sofa, Edinson prepares his outfit for tomorrow’s visit to the Ezeiza penitentiary. As he’s setting aside his documents to store into his briefcase, he remembers the measuring tape.

“Do you have measuring tape?” He asks Martín before he’s ready to wind down for the night.

Martín gestures with his hands, as if telling him to wait because he’s not entirely sure if he’s got one. He rummages through his bedroom closet and pulls out a basket with sewing materials.

“You’re in luck,” he smiles as he fishes out the folded-up tape held together by a rubber band and tosses it across the room to Edinson. “I wasn’t even sure I had one. What do you need it for?”

“My client,” Edinson responds wistfully, “I’m taking his measurements tomorrow. I’m going to buy him a suit. Tailored to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> This chapter concludes one of the co-occurring plots, but further complicates things for Edi. Diego isn't completely out of his hair, but at least he's now in a position where he's not under his influence. He can think and respond coming from a place of reason and begin to restore his self-trust. This is critical for him to put his all into Leandro's trial.
> 
> The next chapter is the last chapter that discusses events before the trial. If you thought this made your stomach drop and you feel bad for Edi...the only thing I can tell you is that things are going to get worse. I'll be adding additional notes preceding the chapter listing specific warnings, as I do know one of them has gory details.
> 
> I wish I could have everything that's painful written out and fast forward to writing the part where I make it better. I promise Edi won't suffer in vain.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed and feel free to share your thoughts.


	12. Chapter 12

“So why are we doing this again?” Leandro briefly averts his eyes, and his shoulders tense up as Edinson swings the measuring tape over his head looping it around his arms. Edinson is a little too close for comfort, as Leandro’s not used to anyone stepping into his personal space if not to harm or apprehend him. This? This is new to him.

“Relax,” Edinson reminds him, “I need you to relax and stand as you would normally do.” He makes sure the tape is snug and he lowers his eyes to focus on the number. _125 cm_. “I want to make sure I get the right measurements.” He lets the tape fall on one side, holding it by the end and he turns to record the measurement on a blank page of his legal pad.

“You’re seriously going to get me a _suit_.” Leandro shakes his head. “You know you can just borrow one, right?”

“Oh, I know.’ Edinson laughs quietly—more air coming out of his nose as his lips spread into a wide grin. He gestures to Leandro to raise his arms so he can get his chest measurements, and swiftly encircles the measuring tape. “But the suits they let you borrow…they aren’t exactly flattering.” Edinson’s eyes widen briefly as he reads the number after adjusting the tape around Leandro’s chest. _97 cm_. He lets the tape fall to this waist. _78 cm_. Edinson scribbles down the numbers and then squats to measure the distance between Leandro’s crotch to his heel. _102 cm_.

Leandro’s measurements aren’t that far off from his own. Though lean and sinewy, the guy’s a bit on the lanky side, having lost quite a bit of weight during his time in prison. Edinson thinks for a moment as he scribbles down the last measurement on his legal pad, that the only major differences in their measurements are in their height and waist.

“That’s probably going to cost you a lot.” Leandro shakes his head as he pulls back the chair to sit down once more.

Edinson glances at Leandro, and leans forward resting a hand against the desktop.

“When was the last time you bought something for yourself, Leandro?” Edinson’s brow creases as his eyes widen, “When you bought an article of clothing or something to dress yourself up, what were you looking for? How did you want to look?”

Leandro’s eyes narrow, mouth hanging open slightly as he gestures with his hand. “Since when did you become a fashion consultant? I thought your job was to represent me in court—not advise me on how to dress to look _good_.”

“Dress to look good.” Edinson repeats after him. “That’s a start. You dress to look _good_. People buy clothes in aspiration of who they want to _be_. Do we agree on that at least?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Leandro murmurs, raising a hand to rub his eye.

“Your dignity, your freedom…your livelihood…the decision to whether you get to _live,_ are on the line Leandro.” Edinson pulls back his chair across from Leandro and sits down, “Your ability to afford proper courtroom attire should not stop you from getting a fair trial. Believe it or not, the way you present yourself before the judge and the jury holds a lot of weight.”

Leandro lowers his eyes, chastened. A beat of silence lapses and Leandro makes a sound as if clearing his throat and raises his eyes to look at Edinson.

“Thanks. I appreciate…what you’re doing for me.”

Edinson motions to make a slight dismissive gesture with his fingers, but stops himself midway, curling his hand into a fist and bringing it over his mouth. He sinks his teeth into it in a gesture of mild regret. He lowers his eyes, realizing that playing it as nothing important and deflecting Leandro’s gratitude is condescending. If he was going to be giving and generous—he needed to do this with an attitude of humility.

“It’s the least I can do.” He reaches across the table and grasps Leandro’s forearm. “Now I need you to catch up on rest. Within the limits that this place imposes on you—I need you to take it easy and be rested enough in preparation for Thursday.”

Edinson tears out the page with Leandro’s suit measurements from his note pad and folds it over to fit inside his breast pocket.

“I almost forgot I’m seeing you again Thursday.” Leandro rises from his chair and walks around the room nervously, swinging his arms back and forth, striking his fist against the open palm of his hand.

“You need to be on the ball on Thursday. That’s the day we are picking out your _jury_.” Edinson reminds Leandro while he packs his belongings into his briefcase. “You need to be on the lookout for anyone showing or saying anything that indicates that they _shouldn’t_ be on your jury.”

Edinson rises, briefcase in hand and knocks against the glass window to signal to the guards that their session has finished. He turns to Leandro standing idly by the door and shakes his hand. He extends his arm as an open gesture, as if asking Leandro permission to close in to give him a one-armed hug. Leandro leans in, accepting the embrace. It’s a half-hearted hug—but it’s the first time Leandro has allowed him to get this close to him while in prison.

☼

Leandro had told him he wanted a black suit originally, a choice Edinson wants to respect. _Except he can’t_. He finds himself explaining to Leandro that waitstaff at bougie places and people who work service jobs typically dress in black—and that he doesn’t want to sit in court looking like he was serving or waiting on anyone. _He wasn’t beneath anyone_. The aim was to wear something to give off the impression of being a person with dignity in spite of his past. He needs to be seen _for who he is_—no more, no less.

Yes, it’s true. He killed a man—but this act alone doesn’t warrant the death penalty. Leandro was harassed for _months_. The incident leading up to Chief Inspector López’s death was provoked. All Leandro did was attempt to defend his honor, his cousin’s honor and to protect his living space from being unlawfully searched. Leandro needed to convince the jury with his appearance and his story that any of them could have been in his situation. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a low-life. He was a reformed felon trying to integrate himself back into the fabric of society who confessed to making a fatal mistake. He deserved to be punished for this in the eyes of justice. Punished. Not executed. And so after delivering a patient discourse, Edinson finally manages to convince Leandro to go for a gray suit. It would go well with his olive skin tone, his black hair and enhance the gray-blue tints of his pale blue eyes.

He drives out to Central Buenos Aires, to _La Sastrería Ruben Parilla_ to place his order. A clerk takes down all the order details, from the fabric, the color as well as the measurements and writes up the bill. A cool _$53.507,00 pesos_. Edinson pays for half of it up front. He tries to ignore how this makes him nauseous on the inside. He doesn’t have this kind of money anymore to burn. He needs to budget and economize, especially now that he’s going to start looking for a new apartment and the landlords will want a security deposit of three month’s worth of rent paid in advance. He pushes these worries aside and focuses on Leandro. He’s doing this because he wants to. More than that—he’s doing this because Leandro deserves it. Edinson has no idea what the outcome of the trial would be. If the worst happens—and the jury finds that he is deserving of the death penalty—Leandro deserves to know what it’s like to be dressed as a man with dignity. He deserves to know what it’s like—in the moments where he isn’t cuffed, or behind a cell—to look and feel like an ordinary citizen. To have a taste of freedom.

The clerk reads back the measurements to ensure it’s all correct and Edinson nods in agreement, smiling widely and thanking him for his time. He’s told it would be ready to pick up by the weekend.

As he walks out and makes his way back to his car parked by _calle Arias_, he thinks about what lies ahead of him now. Thankfully, Lautaro held things down at the office—but he’s got to stop by and take care of a few things in person before driving out to the shared apartment with Diego to start packing up his belongings. He pushes this thought away and he turns once more to thinking about the similarities and differences in his and Leandro’s measurements. If it weren’t for these differences, Edinson would have lent him one of his suits. It’s a pity. They wouldn’t fit Leandro, for the sole reason that they were tailored to Edinson’s slender, tiny waist.

When he gets into his car, and fastens his seatbelt—he thinks briefly of how it’s something he used to hate about himself because of the way it made his figure appear somewhat feminine. Coupled with his shy demeanor, the softness of his voice and the way he liked to wear his hair, his narrow waist was definitely something that singled him out as a bit effeminate. As someone _different_. And just like any insecure teenager, he wanted to downplay anything that singled him out as different from the rest of his peers. This is all on top of the fact that he used to find his body repulsive. For years, he can’t look at the reflection of his body in the mirror and not be reminded—in some way—of how it was abused and defiled in his time in prison.

At 17, he expects to outgrow this into adulthood, but it doesn’t. When he starts law school, he ties his hair back in a ponytail and hides his body in too loose shirts and dress pants. He doesn’t try to adopt a more grown-up look until he realizes no one would take him seriously if he doesn’t clean up and put more effort into looking like a law professional. He doesn’t buy his first suit until he turns 24. When he first looks into the mirror, running his hand over the lapels of his suit jacket, he thinks for the first time in his life that maybe. _Maybe_. He wasn’t ugly.

He’s in transit, so he ignores all his incoming notifications. He successfully merges into the _Panamericana_—and he thinks of how he didn’t learn to love his body until later in life. For that, he partially has to thank a particular client from one of his trysts. A visiting professor of Art History who paid him for his company one night.

He remembers how the professor sat at the edge of the bed, while he stood before him looking on while the professor took his time undressing him, unveiling each part of him with care, like he was a work of art—waiting to be revealed. When he’s naked, he remembers how the professor skated his hands up and down, from his hips up to his waist in a manner as if venerating the soft curves of his body. To this day, it was a unique encounter. A client that doesn’t just want to throw him on the bed, fuck him, and quickly part ways with him. This client—from the moment they first meet—actually _cares_ to get to know him. A client that maybe wants to make him forget he’s having sex for money. Actually make him _feel_ like he’s out on a _date_ _date_ and maybe is really looking for love. Makes him feel like someone who wants to be wooed, enamored, and seduced to the point he wants to willingly give himself over. Make him actually want the sex, instead of switching off and defaulting into a practiced role as he’s being taken. The professor hums sweet things against his skin. Presses a soft kiss on his hip bone and tells him that he’s the embodiment of Donatello’s _David_ in the flesh. He points out, while running a hand over his inner thigh, gesturing with his eyes to signal to Edinson to recline on the bed, how his narrow waist helps to accentuate his broad shoulders. An accent mark of elegance.

Edinson remembers that when they finish, it was already quite late, so the professor ends up giving him a few extra bills, making him promise he would take a cab home instead of the metro to avoid the harsh subzero temperatures of the Buenos Aires winter. Before he walks out, Edinson recalls how the professor grasped his forearm and tapped his forefinger over his chest as if what he was about to tell him was heartfelt and serious: “You have David’s fighting spirit too, boy.” He tells him, “And the added benefit that you conceal a serpent’s cunning nature with the appearance of softness. Mark my words. You too—will bring giants to their knees.”

☼

_Five years ago_

Edinson honors his promise and hails a cab, telling the driver his home address as he slips in. He buries his nose into his scarf and fishes out his phone from his pocket to look up Donatello’s _David_. He titters softly, half amused as he scrolls though the various photos coming up on his search results, and he looks for a quality photo for him to examine.

Donatello’s _David_ negates the arrogance of Michelangelo’s more famously known _David_. There was a quiet strength to Donatello’s _David_. There was no brawn. No head held high, exuding pride or strength. This David is _svelte_—and save for a hat and ornate boots—he is also _nude_. Nude—but depicted in a way to underscore the elegance of the body in juxtaposition to the crude might of Goliath on the floor, decapitated beneath his feet. Edinson notes David’s broad shoulders, torso tapering down to a narrow waist—a figure that looks a lot like his. A smooth chest. Pectorals minimally defined. Long, sinewy legs. Posture relaxed. Goliath’s severed head beneath his ornate boot. The feather of Goliath’s helmet riding up against the inside of David’s leg. The tip pointing to his inner thigh. A subtle detail hinting at something sensual. Mildly erotic. Perhaps scandalous. Edinson wonders how much of this is an artifact of Donatello’s desire. Immortalized on this sculpture. Who was this boy that he hired to pose nude for him to erect such a naturalistic, lifelike sculpture? Was he the son of a nobleman that Donatello loved from afar? Or was he a common prostitute hired to pose for him? Could have Donatello lay with him, or at least fantasized about laying with him? Were these erotic details a way to exalt a desire or perhaps a love that was forbidden?

Edinson raises his eyes and catches the driver looking at him through the rearview mirror and he puts the phone away. He looks out the window, trying to pretend like he wasn’t trying to hold on to the words this stranger had whispered to him in the middle of an intimate embrace. He felt desirable. More than that, it was the first time someone made him feel beautiful.

_It’s true_. He’s poor, broke, working himself ragged between the defense cases assigned to him that didn’t pay enough, and now prostituting himself. But just as David, a poor shepherd boy no one ever believed would amount to much, would slay a giant, appease and entrance King Saul with his lyrical ability and beauty, escape and outwit the King’s plans to murder him, and eventually become King himself—so too he would rise above everything that’s holding him down. Like David, his strength was in his _softness_.

When he gets home, he greets Luis—stealing a couple of bites from his plate to appease his hunger. He strips down to shower, and while he waits for the water to run hot, he does something he doesn’t typically do. At least not often. He pauses to examine his nakedness in the mirror, seeing the semblance of David reflected in the subtle curves of his body.

For the first time, he sees beauty, strength and sensuality reflected back at him.

☼

Martín throws himself down on his sofa and nudges Edinson. They have a few minutes to spare before the São Paulo FC vs River Plate match for the _Copa Libertadores_.

“Is that all of it?” Martín gestures with his head, pointing out the boxes with Edinson’s belongings stalked up against the wall of his living room.

Edinson gives him a guilty look and picks up his beer bottle.

“There’s more to pack. I still have a couple of more trips to go.”

“But just how much more shit do you have that you actually _need?_” Martín raises his eyebrows, throwing Edi a side glance before sipping his beer. “Maybe this is a good opportunity for you to, you know, part ways with everything that can go to shit and just stay with what you need. Embracing detachment might do you good.”

“Look—I’m surprised at just how much stuff I’ve accumulated, and I wouldn’t mind sizing down.” Edinson takes a sip of his beer. It hits his tongue cold and bitter and he closes his eyes to better savor the satisfaction of this simple pleasure, “I just don’t have the energy to sort through it all. Not right now.”

“I don’t know, Edi,” Martín looks at the television screen, smiling a slanted smile and he shrugs. “Think about the energy you’re spending packing what you know in advance is something you don’t need. Stuff you know you can just throw out or donate.” He sets down his beer bottle and reclines all the way back on his sofa, “You know what it sounds like to me?” He says while looking at the ceiling.

Edinson leans back and tilts his head, facing Martín. “Like what, Tincho?” He says, rapping his fingers over his beer bottle.

“Like constipation—but on a _spiritual_ level.” Martín shifts his body to face Edinson, “All this hoarding is a symptom of you still holding onto emotional and spiritual shit that’s just going to make you sicker down the line.”

Edinson lowers his eyes and Martín raises his hand to brush aside a lock of hair from his face.

“You’re right, Tincho.” Edinson responds listlessly, eyes veering to the side briefly to glance at the television, “You’re right.”

They watch a commercial in silence, unsure of what to say to each other, until Martín gets up and walks to his bedroom. He returns with his laptop and he plops back down.

“I’ve been looking at apartment listings, based on the price range you gave me.” Martín scratches his beard as he pulls up the tabs he’s saved. “This one right here—it doesn’t look like much, but it’s beautiful on the inside. It’s got large windows. It’s got a beautiful community garden…and it’s not far from the Cerro de la Virgen National Park.”

Edinson sits closer to the edge and rests his head by Martín’s shoulder, looking on with interest.

“What do you think?” Martín slaps a hand on Edinson’s knee.

“It looks like a dream.” Edinson sighs, “but I’m realizing now I’m going to have to go cheaper. I might look for a condo near central Buenos Aires. Something really small.” Edinson pulls away and sits back up to take a sip of his beer.

Martín throws a look of surprise and makes a reach for his beer.

“My mother used to tell us we were at “war time economy” when money was really tight, and we had to cut back on a lot just to make it to the end of the month.” Edinson glances at Martín briefly. “That’s how bad things are looking. And I haven’t even started to look into selling my practice.”

Martín almost spits out his drink and sets his bottle down.

“Wait—you’re going to sell your studio? Edi—that’s your dream right there. Your whole life.”

Edinson turns to give Martín a pained smile.

“Weren’t you just talking about detachment? How it’s good for the soul?”

“I was talking about letting go of shit that doesn’t serve you—not kill your dreams and throw out everything you’ve worked for off a cliff!” Martín spits. He angrily tugs on his hair tie to undo his pony-tail bun to touch it up again. Something he’d do whenever he’s incensed about something.

“If only you knew…what Diego had me do…before he even put down money for that studio. So yeah…I want to let it go. Let it all go, along with all the memories associated with it, Tincho.”

Edinson places his hand over Martín’s shoulder.

“I want build something up that I can say is truly mine...and that didn't cost me my soul.”

☼

Edinson makes it to the courthouse at 7 hrs Thursday morning. He arrives early to see to it that Leandro is well-dressed and as presentable as can be. He hands him over a crisp white shirt, a tie and a navy pullover. He gets a guard to accompany them to the men’s room.

“Officer, is there any way you can uncuff him? Just for a few minutes while he spruces up?” Edinson asks the corrections officer who wordlessly shakes his head. A resounding no.

Edinson unzips the small bag of toiletries he brought along with him and he pulls out a black comb which he runs under the faucet to dampen Leandro’s hair as parts it to the side, combing it over.

“I’m going to make a note to bring in a razor next time.” Edinson whispers to Leandro while he gently pats down his hair with his hand. “You’d look a lot nicer with a clean-shaven face.” He looks into the gritty bathroom mirror alongside Leandro, whose eyes are downcast. The lighting is terrible, making the both of them look more tired than they really are. “What do you say?” Edinson pinches Leandro’s forearm. A cue to get him to look up. To look at himself.

He thinks he sees a shadow of a smile on Leandro’s face. Like he’s surprised how different he looks already. Leandro shrugs to feign indifference.

“Sure,” Leandro responds, “why not?”

☼

The jury _voir dire_ begins at 10 hrs on the dot. Justice Sampaoli does not waste any time and has the clerk call up fourteen prospective jurors to take a seat by the jury box for interview. The rows of the court room are completely filled—seating the disgruntled, impatient prospective jurors summoned to the courthouse that morning.

“Citizens of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires.” Justice Sampaoli addresses the courtroom, “Thank you for coming here today to fulfill your civic duty. We are gathered today to select a jury for defendant Leandro Paredes, who is facing several charges: Murder in the first degree. Murder in the second degree. Manslaughter in the first degree. Manslaughter in the second degree. Involuntary Manslaughter in the first degree, and finally, aggravated assault in the first degree.”

The entire time, Leandro keeps his head lowered, jotting down a barely legible list on the legal pad Edinson had given him earlier with the instructions to write down any questions, doubts or concerns he had which he could slide into his view as to not disrupt the ongoing interviews. Edinson can tell he’s nervous. He doesn’t blame him. He already feels his skin prickling with a hit of adrenaline. This is it. The moment they had been preparing for is coming to a close.

“You will be instructed on the legal definitions for each of the charges for which the defendant is accused of." Justice Sampaoli continues, "For each charge the defendant is found guilty of, it is punishable by a variable number of years in prison, and depending on the severity of the charges, the death penalty may be applicable.”

The _voir dire_is an art form. Edinson knows that even though the trial hasn’t even started, that they are already at a disadvantage. The jury, even a carefully selected one, is already primed to condemn. There’s no way to uproot the deeply seated bias that the defendant is must be guilty. Guilty of _something_. To formulate well thought-out questions to make an individual’s biases come out to the surface and eliminate them from being sworn into as a juror is tricky.

People in general think too highly of themselves—believing themselves to know more than they really do know, overestimating their qualities. They also like to believe they can be fair and impartial. No one wants to admit their biases. No one will readily admit to being classist. Or that they’ll judge someone based on appearances, socio-economic status, or skin color, or prior record. People in general also don’t realize how they’re more irrational than they think they are and easily swayed by emotions. Edinson already votes 9 of the 14 prospective jurors out from just listening to their responses to Luis Suárez's questioning. They're promptly dismissed, and another nine from the court room benches are summoned forward to sit in the jury box for questioning.

Now, it's his turn.

Edinson takes a deep breath before he switches on his microphone. He takes moment to brace himself before greeting the prospective jurors. Among them were the people—who would be a part of a carefully selected 12. Who would be sworn in as _the jury_.

He was about to choose the people who would be judging Leandro. The people who will get to decide whether he gets to _live_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> This is it. The following chapters focus on the trial. Heed the chapter notes in the beginning for any important warnings.
> 
> Thank you for reading, for following me this far, and for sharing your thoughts with me.
> 
> Also.
> 
> Donatello's David is a very nuanced piece. [Here's a brief art history article](https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-point-one-worlds-famous-sculptures) highlighting several of the erotic elements and queer references. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> I changed my ao3 handle. I was formerly _dame5_, a handle I took after an Uruguayan cumbia band. I'm now _ibarbourou_ as in the Uruguayan poet, Juana Ibarbourou.
> 
> I'm going through a transition phase in my life. A lot of changes happening. Some immediate, some looming in the near future. I think the change in my handle is a reflection of that and maybe more.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy the update :)

“This place isn’t bad.” Martín calls out from the kitchen. He breaks the seal of a water bottle he took from Edinson’s fridge and tilts his head back to drink. He runs a hand over his face to wipe away the residual sweat and walks over towards the living room, where Edinson is standing, looking out the window. “Actually, it suits you.”

“You think so?” Edinson peers through the blinders, looking down at the busy streets from the 4th floor of his new apartment. He looks away and turns to face Martín, standing behind him.

“It needs some finishing touches to make it feel like home—like it’s _lived_ in—for sure. But I like it.” Martín smiles placidly.

Edinson had just spent Saturday morning well onto late afternoon moving into his new apartment. Martín, loyal and dependable as he is, had lent a hand bringing up his furniture and assembling it. They brought in just the essentials. The rest would go onto storage until Edinson found time to sort through what he would keep and what he could do away with.

“Thanks Tincho.” Edinson slaps his hand over Martín’s shoulder, “I don’t know how to repay you—”

“You could buy me lunch.” Martín interjects, “It’s about time we eat anyway, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough—lunch is on me.” Edinson blinks as he scratches the side of his face. He runs his hand over his jaw, feeling the coarseness of four days’ stubble growing in. He’s been so busy he hasn’t even found time to _shave_. “Do you want to suggest anything?”

“Something with a ton of fat and salt.” Martín speaks empathically, “Like _pizza_.”

“Pizza it is—” Edinson smiles—the corner of his lips tugging downwards and brings both hands up in a gesture of resignation. “and I know just the place.”

They skip the elevator and take the stairs instead to the parking garage and Edinson drives them both to a pizzeria not far from barrio Palermo. _La Mezzetta_.

“This place looks like the real deal. But goddamn them if they don’t have Hawaiian pizza.” Martín shakes up his cloth napkin and lays it over his lap.

“Pineapple as a pizza topping is an abomination.” Edinson counters while keeping his eyes lowered, reading through the menu. “Why don’t you get something normal people get? Look. They make a really good _margherita_.” He raises his eyes and sets his menu down.

“I have impeccable taste.” Martín rests his elbows against the tabletop and leans forward, “Unlike you.”

“Jeeeezzz—Tincho,” Edinson grimaces, “Now I remember why I can’t take you to nice places. Where are your manners?” Edinson gestures with his hands before he slaps Martín’s forearm, “Get your elbows off the table and act like you were raised right.”

“You take that back.” Martín grabs hold of Edinson’s wrist. “My old lady was a _saint_ and taught me right from wrong. I _was_ raised right.”

“Then act like it.” Edinson’s eyes flare up.

Martín’s expression sullens for a moment.

“Don’t get mad, Edi—but I _really_ need to get this off my chest.” Martín leans forward, keeping his voice low but firm, “You’ve hung around bougie places and pretentious _chetos_ for too long. Your ex was one of them. You lived with one long enough to pick up on their kind of shit, that you don’t realize how it’s rubbed off on you.”

Edinson’s eyes widen and his lips part to speak, but he stops himself. The way he had spoken to Martín earlier wasn’t that different to the way Diego used to speak to him. Calling out and shaming everything that he didn’t find to his liking. Putting him down for liking what he liked. For simply being himself. Looking for any opportunity to point out all the areas where he was lacking to make him feel small.

“I don’t think you realize it, Edi,” Martín continues, “but some of the things you say and do from time to time refers to the things we used to do—things we used to _love_—seem like they’re beneath you. I bet you can tell me the difference between a spoon to drink soup versus one to eat eggs. But you’re forgetting where you came from.” Martín narrows his eyes and withdraws his hand. “You’re not one of them and not matter how hard you try—you’ll _never_ be one of them.”

They both sit in silence for a moment amidst the background clamor of people dining in and the coming and going of waiters tending to customers. Martín drums his fingers over the hard plastic of his menu and looks up.

“Edi, I may not be as cultured as you’ve become. Call me loud. Tell me I’m a fuck up with no manners—but I know I’ve got my heart in the right place. Me putting my elbows on the table? Am I hurting anyone? Who am I offending?”

Edinson lowers his eyes and he stretches his hand from across the table, brushing his fingers over Martín’s hand.

“I’m sorry if this is how I’ve been acting towards you, Tincho. You have every right to call me out if I ever lose my decency or sense of kindness.” Edinson pauses and licks his lips, “In many ways…you’re right. When I was with Diego, I was a part of social circles I didn’t have access to before. They’re all grand people, quick to impress you with many things…but they’re hollow. I’m still figuring out what to take from all of that. I may have lost a part of myself. Trying to fit in.”

Edinson takes Martín’s hand and squeezes gently.

“I’m trying to find myself again. I’m trying to be the person I’ve always wanted to be before I allowed others to convince me…to want to be something I’m _not_.”

Edinson withdraws his hand and leans forward, eyes holding Martín’s gaze briefly until he looks away, picking up his menu.

“I’m sorry, Tincho.” Edinson repeats himself. “You’re right…please, forgive me.”

Martín keeps his eyes lowered, his eyes scanning the menu and he laughs shortly.

“What is it?” Edinson presses.

“They have Hawaiian pizza.” Martín raises his eyes and breaks into a laugh ending in a shark’s grin.

“Did you not even listen to a word I was saying?” Edinson sits back upright, shaking his head, mildly irritated.

“I did. _I did_. Every word, love of mine.” Martín assures him, “I’ll accept your apology—on one condition.”

“Let’s hear it.” Edinson looks at Martín, eyes smiling.

“You will eat a whole slice of Hawaiian pizza, and tell me it’s _delicious_.” Martín brings his fingers towards his mouth, pressing a quick kiss and splays his fingers out, like flowering blossom. “_Delicious_.” He repeats once more, the word ‘delicious’ rolling off his tongue in an exaggerated French accent.

Edinson shuts his eyes and brings a hand to his face. He laughs quietly, shoulders shaking.

“What’s with the beard and moustache coming in?” Martín reaches for his glass of water, “With a fancy hat, you could look like a modern-day D’artagnan.”

“I’ve been so busy these last days,” Edinson raises his eyes, while counting his fingers on one hand, “Between selecting the jury for my client’s trial, the office, meeting with clients, searching for apartments, making on-site visits and discussing negotiations with the superintendents—I’ve had little time for myself. As you can see, I’ve had no time to shave.”

“Or work out.” Martín adds, “I’ve missed you at the gym.” Martín takes a sip of his water while peering at him. “You probably haven’t been eating much either.” He sets his glass down and folds his arms over the table.

Their waiter approaches their table shortly after and they order. Martín asks for the Hawaiian mini pie. Edinson tries to not make a face and orders the caprese mini pie. Martín kicks him from under the table. Of course he had to pick the healthier option. ‘_I’m going to buy a stick of butter and feed it to you_.’ Martín mouths to Edinson while their waiter sets down a bottle of tonic water on their table.

“About time. I’m so hungry my stomach is eating itself.” Martín mentions casually. “What are you doing after this?”

“I’m picking up a suit. A suit tailored to my client.” Edinson reaches for his glass of water and takes a sip. “It’s just a few blocks over. If you want to walk with me to pick it up, I can drop you off home after.”

“Sure," Martín responds, smoothing down his beard, "Before I forget, I was just thinking...the _fact_ you were able to find an apartment so quickly and sign a good deal for a year is the universe’s way of telling you that whatever you’re doing—you’re on the right path.”

They continue talking. About how hectic their weeks have been, about fútbol. How River Plate is looking unstoppable and how they might make it to another final. They talk about upcoming elections in Uruguay—how the left was losing traction and how Lacalle Pou might win. They discuss the hassle they’d both have to go through just to cast their ballots at the consulate. When their pizzas arrive, the don’t devour their food. They inhale it.

Martín cuts up a slice of his pizza and swaps it for a slice of his caprese. Edinson makes a face when he takes a bite, and starts to chew on it hurriedly when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“This…this is not terrible.” He mumbles, bringing his hand over his mouth.

“Not terrible? It’s fucking _amazing_.” Martín quips as he sinks his teeth into his slice. “I told you I have impeccable taste. The secret is in grilling the pineapple just right. The tangy sweetness of the pineapple makes the salty smokiness of the ham stand out. It’s like having an orgasm. In your mouth.”

“You should have your own cooking show.” Edinson picks up one of the chunks of pineapple that had fallen onto his plate and eats it.

“Except I’m not the greatest at cooking.” Martín bunches up his napkin to wipe his mouth, “I’m really good at eating. I could be a judge at one of those shows where they compete to make fancy dishes for money.”

Edinson pays the bill and the walk to _La Sastreria Ruben Parilla_. He presents his ticket to the clerk, and he brings out the suit for him to inspect carefully. Martín steps in as Edinson examines the seams, and marvels at the flawless work. It’s beautiful.

The clerk wraps it up for him in a suit carrier and Edinson pays the remaining balance. While they’re making their way out, Martín pulls Edinson into a one-armed hug from the side.

“You’re a good person, Edi.” Martín pulls Edinson closer to him, “Your client is lucky to have you…and this is how I know you’re a keeper.” He presses a kiss to his temple and releases Edinson from his embrace.

Edinson smiles shyly and playfully shoves Martín. He doesn’t know what to say to that.

☼

It takes four full court days to select a jury for Leandro’s trial.

It’s not easy to find individuals who aren’t opposed to the death penalty who also have a degree of flexibility in their thinking and reasoning. Edinson needed to see a willingness from them to not hold a person’s past criminal record against them when weighing in on the evidence and testimonies being presented in court. He needed people to have the right kind of empathy. Not the kind of people that are easily swayed by emotions but who had the ability to imagine themselves in Leandro’s situation. Justice Sampaoli was growing increasingly impatient with both ADA Suárez and him. But he held his ground. He wasn’t going to rush or be pressured to expedite the _voir dire_. Not when someone’s life depended on it.

And so the first day of Leandro’s trial is not on Wednesday as they predicted—but on _Friday_.

The first day of Leandro’s trial, Edinson arrives to court at 8 hours. He’s got his speech prepared. He’s spent last evening rehearsing it in front of the large bedroom mirror he hung over his dresser, across from his bed. On his way to court, he mentally reviewed it. Suárez had the privilege of going first with his opening remarks, and he needed to deliver a speech powerful enough to remind the jury to stay level-headed. To view Leandro as a human being. _Not a monster_.

He sits beside Leandro in his cell after he’s put on his suit.

“I just find it ironic…” Leandro trails off briefly, “that I’ve never had a suit tailored to me until I ended up in prison. A second time.”

Edinson rises and walks to the opposite side of the detention cell and takes a picture of Leandro from the front.

“I figured you might want to see how you look like since there isn’t a mirror here.” Edinson approaches Leandro and pulls up the photo on his phone for him to inspect.

Leandro’s eyes linger over his picture and smiles.

“It’s like…I can’t even tell that’s me.” He turns to look at Edinson.

“How would you describe your style?” Edinson powers off his phone and puts it away.

“Me?” Leandro snorts, “I was a jeans a t-shirt kind of guy. I think the most expensive thing I owned back in the day was a Boca Juniors jersey.” Leandro pauses for a moment before he adds, “I think if I were a free man…I’d still be a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. I mean—this is nice…” he mumbles, running his hands over his lapels and tilts his head to look at Edinson, “but it’s not who I am. Professionals. Important people. _Chetos_. They’d wear this kind of getup. I’m not one of them. I could never be.”

Edinson smiles softly and lowers his eyes. Leandro hasn’t said anything particularly profound, but his last sentences make him think for a few moments. He doesn’t linger on it for longer because the guard arrives shortly after to unlock the door to Leandro’s cell. Edinson steals a glance at his watch. Thirty minutes to 9 hours. _It’s about time_.

☼

Luis Suárez approaches the jury box as soon as Justice Sampaoli opens the floor to him to deliver his opening remarks.

“May it please the court—” Luis nods respectfully to Justice Sampaoli, “Council,” he turns to look at Edinson, “Madame foreperson, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury. We are gathered this morning because of a _murder_ that took place the afternoon of March 12, 2019. Federal Officer, Chief Inspector Maximiliano Gastón López was murdered while on duty by defendant Leandro Daniel Paredes.” Luis turns and points Leandro out to the jury with his outstretched hand. “which I might add, is a convicted felon.” He adds emphatically.

“As Assistant to the District Attorney leading the prosecution of this case, it is my burden to prove to you that defendant Paredes is _guilty_ of murder of the first degree, a _capital_ offense according to the Argentine penal code. I have built a case to prove to you that defendant Paredes is a menace to society. Thus, our duty as law-abiding citizens is to extirpate him from the fabric of society—not by condemning him to life in prison—but by execution via lethal injection. A just punishment for the crime of taking another man’s life.”

Edinson listens intently as Luis lays out the turn of events according to the way he believes they happened. It takes everything he’s got to keep his expression neutral, though on the inside, he’s agitated. It’s nothing personal. He knows Luis is just doing his job, but that doesn’t make it any easier to listen with professional detachment. How typical of Luis to distort the facts so early on in his opening remarks. López did not die within the line of duty. He had no lawful warrant to enter Paulo’s apartment. How convenient of Luis to leave out details of how López accosted Paulo and threatened him with violence. Edinson looks at each individual juror. Already their faces are petrified with horror. One of them is shaking his head, face pulled into a look of abject disgust as Luis describes the injuries Leandro inflicted on López. He looks away, reaching for his legal pad and makes a couple of notes on the margins regarding the reactions he was observing. To him, they were clues on what he had to work on to lessen the bludgeoning effect Luis’ words were having on the jury. López’s injuries would be hard to downplay. They were as awful as they were grotesque. They _happened_. They were photographed and documented. It would be difficult to convince a jury to deny the obviousness of their horror. He begins to wonder now if perhaps he hadn’t worked as hard as he could to present the best case in defense of Leandro—but now is not the time to feed into self-doubt. Now is not the time to choke.

“And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the evidence will show that defendant Paredes was in no way justified in beating and choking Chief Inspector López to death.” Luis turns once more to point out Leandro before he delivers his final statement. “Based on this evidence, at the conclusion of this trial we, the prosecution, will ask that you find the defendant Paredes, guilty of the crime of murder as charged in this indictment. Thank you.” Luis bows his head and walks towards his seat.

Edinson rises and takes a quick sip of water before approaching the jury box and greets the court in the same professional fashion as Luis did earlier.

“May it please the court,” Edinson turns to greet Justice Sampaoli, “Council,” he glances towards Luis, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he squares himself directly towards them, shoulders pulled back and arms relaxed to his side—a stance that says ‘_I’m open and vulnerable. With nothing to hide_.’ “Good morning. We are here today, because on March 12, 2019—Leandro Paredes witnessed his cousin, Paulo Dybala being accosted and held at gun point by Chief Inspector López in their home apartment and rushed to defend him. Leandro killed him after engaging in an arduous struggle, and thereafter, upon realizing what he had done—he turned himself over to the police. He didn’t run away. He took responsibility for his actions. So then, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is _not_ a case of murder—but rather a case of _defense_. Leandro was defending his cousin and defending his household from being unlawfully searched.”

Edinson pauses briefly to let his last statement settle.

“As the defense, we do not contest the fact that my client, Leandro Paredes did kill Chief Inspector López, on March 12, 2019. We agree that this _happened_. The _only_ issue in this case, is whether Leandro Paredes was defending his cousin, Paulo Dybala while he was being held at gun point in their home apartment." Edinson raises his hand and shakes his index finger, "In other words, ladies and gentlemen of the jury—was Leandro Paredes _justified_ in his use of excessive force under the facts and circumstances that unfolded during the afternoon of March 12? Please remember as you listen to everything that is being presented to you in conjunction with this case that we—the defense—do _not_ have to prove anything.” Edinson pauses and gestures with his hand to point Luis out. “It is the _prosecution_ that has to prove, _beyond a reasonable doubt_, that Leandro Paredes was _not_ justified in defending his cousin. The evidence will show that my client was in fact justified in doing what he did and thus is _not_ guilty of murder. The Argentine penal code has varying gradations for the crime of murder. As we heard earlier this morning—as Justice Sampaoli instructed you on the legal definition for murder in the first degree: one must have premeditated and have the _intent_ to kill in order to be found guilty of this crime.”

Edinson goes on to discuss the case he has put together in Leandro’s defense. He scans the jury carefully for any signs to assess whether they’re receptive to his message. Whether any of them show any signs of surprise upon learning that much of what he’s discussing in his opening remarks contradict those of the prosecution. He sees a couple of jurors transfixed, while others avert their eyes. At this stage in the game, it’s difficult to assess if they are avoiding his gaze because they’re listening intently, or whether they’re bored and just want to get everything over and done with.

“So then I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, at this time to withhold your judgment until you have listened to all the evidence from all of the witnesses. I am confident that upon hearing all of the evidence, that each of you will agree and render a verdict in this case that will be _fair_. We believe that the prosecution will _not_ be able to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Leandro Paredes was not justified in what he has done to protect his cousin Paulo and his household. We expect that after you deliberate and carefully weigh all the evidence in this case, that you will return the only possible verdict. A verdict of guilty of second degree manslaughter—an offense that does not merit the death penalty, but that is grave enough to merit a lengthy prison sentence. Thank you all for your attention.”

For his first witness, Luis calls up Officer Mascherano. The officer who arrested Leandro in his apartment. His testimony and the questioning led by Luis takes up the entire morning session. They break for lunch, and return for the afternoon session where Edinson cross examines Officer Mascherano. Justice Sampaoli dismisses the court, and they end earlier than expected. The prison guard escorts Leandro away and Edinson converses briefly with Lautaro when he’s interrupted by Dr. Tabárez.

“Good work—you delivered a strong opening statement.” Dr. Tabárez grasps Edinson’s hand and shakes it firmly. “Excuse us for a moment,” he addresses Lautaro while he pulls Edinson to the side.

“Edi—I’ve got someone I would like you to meet. I wish he had come forth earlier because he certainly could have provided you with additional information—or at least give you more material to work with. He’s a retired officer—one of the few good ones who did not last long.”

“Sure,” Edinson responds, “I’d be happy to talk to him.”

“His name is Diego Lugano. He _knew_ López, and he is willing to talk to you. I’m passing on his contact information and the two of you can take it from there.” Dr. Tabárez reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out one of his business cards. He writes Lugano’s cell number on the back of the card and transfers it to Edinson.

“I know you’ve got business to attend to—but let’s converse further. Just to touch bases. Give me a call and maybe we can get a drink later today, _ta?_”

☼

Edinson wastes no time. He finds a quiet hallway and dials Diego Lugano’s number. He mutters a curse when his call goes straight to voicemail and he leaves a message. After delegating follow up work to Lautaro, he calls Dr. Tabárez. Edinson suggests they meet at the restaurant he used to work in, by _barrio_ Palermo, which was easy to get to, given where they both lived.

It turns out that Dr. Tabárez didn’t want to discuss work and business matters as much as he wants to get an overall sense of how he’s doing. In many ways, he never stopped being a mentor. Edinson wants to lie. Wants Dr. Tabárez to go home that night with the impression that he’s doing well for himself and that he’s happy. He doesn’t know how to break the news that he had broken up with his partner and that he’d shortly be giving up his private practice as the property belonged to his former partner.

Despite knowing Dr. Tabárez since he a boy of fifteen, and having always regarded him as a secondary father figure, there were details of his life he kept hidden from him. His sexuality being one of them. Edi liked women, but he felt he could connect with men better—physically and emotionally. There were things he felt he could never disclose to Dr. Tabárez out of fear of earning the slightest disapproval. He was already estranged by his father, who cut off all communication with him; practically disowning him for his life choices. He feared losing Dr. Tabárez for similar reasons. He and his father were close in age. They grew up in a different time. With an adherence to traditional values.

To Edinson’s surprise—David—the Brazilian server ends up waiting on them, and something about the way they interact when David takes their order is enough to give away what Edinson had tried for years to hide from Dr. Tabárez.

“Do you like him?” Dr. Tabárez asks placidly, which makes Edinson look away.

“He’s sympathetic. Sure.” Edinson shrugs, “I’ve run into him a couple of times and he’s always been friendly.”

“I don’t think I asked the right question,” Dr. Tabárez backtracks, “I meant to ask if you find him _attractive_.”

Edinson isn’t able to hide his immediate reaction. His lips part and he almost gasps by how taken aback he is.

“My boy—I’ve always _known_.” Dr. Tabárez extends a warm hand, placing it over Edinson’s hand. “There is no shame in that. I may be antiquated, and it certainly took me a solid decade to stop seeing same-sex attraction as a perversion. The way it had been taught to us as _children_. But I’ve finally come around to seeing it for what it is. It’s as natural as everything God made under the sun.”

The significance of the moment is interrupted when David arrives with their drinks.

Dr. Tabárez raises his glass and strikes it against Edinson’s.

That evening, Edinson feels as if a major barrier preventing an authentic connection to Dr. Tabárez lift. For the first time, he’s able to converse with him freely and openly. He doesn’t know if it’s the significance of the moment—of being accepted and seen for who he is, or the alcohol in his system—but he wants to cry. He almost does, on several occasions but he catches himself. When Dr. Tabárez leaves, Edinson heads to the front to pay the outstanding bill.

“Don’t leave. Not yet.” David leans against the counter as he returns Edinson’s debit card and receipt. “Sit here and have a drink with me.” he winks playfully.

“It’s on me.”

☼

Edinson wanted to decline the invitation. He’s got an early day in court tomorrow—but David dismisses his excuses. It’s only 19 hours. It’s early _early_ evening. Surely he could spare a few moments. He mentions how wound up and tense he looks. He walks over to the other side, gesturing to him to sit down. To put down his briefcase. David places both hands over his shoulders, thumbs and fingers pressing down over the fabric of his suit jacket—kneading away at the tension.

It feels _good_. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels so good. In his mind, Edinson justifies indulging in the pleasure of this moment. He barely recalls what it’s like to be touched and caressed indulgently. He’s enjoying the attention, the erotic tension between the two of them, though he pretends to be oblivious to it.

After a couple of shots, he lowers his guard. When David points out he’s no longer wearing his engagement band—Edinson doesn’t take any pains to conceal his availability. He lets him know he’s single. Lets him know he’s free to mingle once more. David orders another shot and they drink to his new found freedom in singledom—his freedom to pursue pleasure in the arms of anyone he wanted.

At some point, Edinson becomes increasingly aware of an ache, stemming from his loins and slowly setting the rest of his body ablaze. Lust has no mercy. It's a visceral ache that is not just physical, but emotional. It was unrelenting, like a capricious desire. Demanding it be tended to. David is beautiful. Edinson's eyes linger far too long, tracing the curve of David's full lips. His radiant smile. The pale green color of his eyes—the color of sweet Muscat grapes. It's only for a fleeting moment, but Edinson catches David looking back at him with a lust to match his own.

With the excess alcohol in his system, it takes him a moment to process that he should probably start heading out. Go to his apartment. Shower to wash away the stress of the day from his shoulders. Chase his pleasure to relieve himself of the pent-up tension that continues to grow with every passing minute in David’s bewitching presence.

He motions to get up and realizes the room is spinning and turns to look at David.

“I’m going to need help…going home.” He leans into his space, whispering into his ear. “I can’t drive. Not like this.”

“I’ll call a cab. I’ll take you home.” David assures him. “Just write down your address for me.”

Edinson scribbles down his address on the back of the torn receipt paper David slides toward him over the bar and he walks to the restrooms. He’s washing his hands, dampening his face with cold water to keep him alert and awake, he doesn’t notice David opening the door, approaching him from behind, goading him into the nearest bathroom stall. The door slams behind them and David shoves his hand between Edinson’s legs, palming over the outline of his hardness. Edinson gasps, and David crashes his mouth over his, kissing him hard. Licking into him, stifling a choked-out sound of pleasure. Edinson grasps David’s hips, pulling him closer to him, grinding against David’s hand for a few seconds to relieve his tension before he breaks the kiss.

“I want you…so bad.” Edinson pants against David’s ear. He pulls away, licking his lips seductively biting down on his lower lip, giving David a dark look.

David leans into Edinson, whispering against his neck, “When was the last time someone gave you a proper fucking?” His lips brush against his skin. It’s a touch simple enough to tease, but strong enough to burn that Edinson takes a sharp intake of breath. “Take me home with you.” David continues, “I’ll take care of that…and more.”

☼

David calls a cab and once they’re both seated in the back, David calls out Edinson’s address. It’s a ten-minute drive—short enough to hold out on their urge to act out, but too long a wait time for David. He closes in on Edinson and kisses him longingly. Indulgently. Edinson would normally resist. He’s not one to flaunt his sexuality or his lust publicly. He doesn’t have David’s exhibitionist streak. But his passion is at a level he hasn’t experienced in a while. He’s burning over to such a degree—he’d let David pull his cock out of his pants and give him a hand job if it meant finding some relief. He wouldn’t care whether the driver peers out at them.

They stumble into his apartment, and don’t waste time stripping down. Edinson pulls David into the shower stall with him. They take turns lathering each other up, wiping down the sweat and scent of being out and about in public spaces. David wastes no time. He flips Edinson over, and slams him against the pale blue colored tiles, running his fingers over his hole, pressing a finger into him, sinking his teeth against Edinson’s shoulder while he strokes himself. Edinson peers over his shoulder, running his tongue over his lips, to steal a glance at David’s cock. Large, veiny and completely swollen. A thing of beauty. Just what his aching hole needed. The anticipation of being fucked senseless made his own cock throb. He lowers a hand to pleasure himself, but David smacks his hand away.

“You’re going to come…from my cock pounding into your pretty hole.” David nips on his earlobe “Just you wait, hot love. I’ll make it worth it.”

They step out of the shower stall and stumble into the bedroom, the two of them falling onto the bed. Groping and clawing desperately at each other in between urgent kisses.

“Where do you keep your lube?” David smacks his hand over Edinson’s cheeks playfully.

“In the top drawer…by my nightstand.” Edinson responds, voice ragged. “Yes—that’s the one.”

David picks it out, and rummages through his drawer as if looking for something else. “You don’t have extra-large condoms?” He asks with a note of impatience.

Edinson sits up on the bed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.” He responds.

“Wait.” David’s eyebrows go up in a flash, before his eyes dart back to Edinson. “I might have a couple on me. I’ll have to check my pockets.” He flashes a grin before he steps out of the bedroom.

Edinson reclines on his back, thinking of how painful his erection feels between his legs. Thinking of how badly he wants this. How much he needs a good fuck to beat the tension out of his muscles and clear his head from everything weighing on him. David makes it back, with a triumphant grin, condom in hand and he jumps on the bed. Edinson reaches out to him, pulling him into a deep kiss when the doorbell rings.

“Ignore it.” David whispers, before he captures Edinson’s lips once more, kissing him languidly.

The doorbell rings again, and Edinson presses the palms of his hands against David’s chest, pushing him away.

“David. Stop…_stop_. I have to get it. I think I know who it is.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “It’ll just be a moment.”

Edinson sighs and walks to his dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and walks towards his living room to get the door.

Sure enough, it’s Martín.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> I have no real author's notes except this picture of [shirtless Tincho enjoying Hawaiian pizza](https://soy-celeste.tumblr.com/post/190461757671) to take the edge off the angst. I've lost too many hours contemplating this man's beauty and all of his oddities.
> 
> Share your thoughts with me. Whatever you're comfortable sharing. I'm just happy that you're here reading this.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader, I'm happy to be back working on this story after taking some time off to think about it.  
I've reworked a lot of past chapters. I've added over 7K more words across chapters 1-13 without changing the plot, so you may want to go back and re-read this work. Most of my edits corrected for discrepancies, while fleshing out relationships and further elaborating on backstories.
> 
> Enjoy the update :)

“Hey.” Edinson greets Martín at the door. He lightly ruffles his hair, still damp from showering.

“Hey,” Martín responds, slightly winded. He motions to make his way in and is startled when Edi doesn’t move aside. He can pick up a whiff of Edi’s breath, reeking of liquor and makes a face.

“Sorry, Tincho, tonight I’m not alone.” Edi smiles placidly. “I really wish you would have called to let me know you were coming. I would have let you know it’s not a good time.”

Martín steals a glance, peering into Edi’s apartment and catches a sight of a mound of clothes on the living room floor and a naked figure laying on Edi’s bed through the reflection in the large bedroom mirror. It takes everything he’s got to keep his expression neutral, but a short huff of disapproval escapes him.

“I came to drop this off.” He says with a note of mild irritation. “I worry that you haven’t been eating well these days with how crazy busy you’ve been, so I made you your favorite. _Milanesa a la Napolitana_.” He transfers the container to Edi’s hands and leans in close, “Who is he?” he mouths, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Edi lets out a short airy laugh as he typically does when he’s annoyed. “Read the room, Tincho. What’s it look like?” he keeps his voice low, “I took someone home.”

Martín’s nostrils flare out and he presses his lips together before raising his eyes to look at Edi squarely in the face. “I read the room, Edi. I read the _whole_ fucking floor. It’s not like you to reek of rubbing alcohol either. So forgive me for asking. I’m worried that wherever you were, you got trashed and brought a rando—”

Edinson clenches his jaw and steps outside of his apartment, cutting Martín off. “Except I didn’t get trashed. I just had one drink too many. I couldn’t afford to wait to sober up to be able to drive so he escorted me home. And just so you know…he’s not a random person. I _know_ him.”

“Know him from _where?_” Martín gestures with his hands. “You break up with Diego and not even a couple of weeks go by and you’re—”

“Why does it matter where I know him from? I can hook up with whoever I want, whenever I want.” Edi counters, with a note of defensiveness in his voice.

Martín lowers his hands and quickly swipes his tongue over his lips. An expression washes over his face briefly as if he himself is taken aback by his own questions and comments on Edi’s private matters. He knows better than to meddle in or judge his affairs.

_It doesn’t make sense_. They’re best friends, after all. So why does this awful sensation in his gut feel like jealousy?

“Whatever man. You know what? Forget everything I said.” Martín makes a dismissive gesture, “Sorry I interrupted your dick appointment.”

Edinson exhales sharply from his nose, keeping his eyes lowered while he nods in response to Martín’s half-hearted apology. It feels more like a passive aggressive jab at him more than an apology. A part of him wants to talk it out with him, but a part of him also doesn’t want to keep David waiting.

“Hey Tincho,” Edinson calls out as Martín starts walking away, “thanks for the milanesas.” He raises the container to acknowledge his thoughtful gesture.

Martín doesn’t turn around to acknowledge him and Edi sighs with mild disappointment. He figures Martín and he can talk this over when he stops by later that weekend to pick up the remainder of his boxes and return his food container to him.

He steps back into his apartment and locks the door behind him. He stores the milanesas in his refrigerator and walks back to the bedroom.

“Sorry about that.” He addresses David, who’s sprawled out on his bed, laying flat on his stomach responding to text messages. “A friend of mine stopped by to drop off some food.”

David makes a disinterested sound to acknowledge him while he finishes tapping out a response. He then shuts off his phone and sets it on Edi’s bedroom table. “That’s nice.” He adds when he rolls onto his back and smiles. His eyes quickly scan Edi’s appearance, and he scratches the side of his head. “Everything good?” David asks, sensing something about Edi’s demeanor that has changed. He reaches for one of the pillows, adjusting it behind him and begins stroking himself. He briefly lowers his eyes, focusing on his erection and bites down on his lower lip as he concentrates on every slow tug and downstroke.

“It’s not a big deal.” Edi assures him as he pulls his t-shirt overhead, casting it aside. “I’m just…sorry I kept you waiting,” he adds as he walks towards David. He’s enthralled by the size of his fully erect cock, swearing to himself that he hasn’t seen one that beautiful in a while. A cock that he actually wants to put into his mouth. He raises his eyes to meet David’s as he begins to lower the waistband of his sweatpants. David lunges forward, towards Edi and yanks down his sweatpants for him, letting out a short, breathless laugh when his erection springs free. He brings his hand around Edi’s cock, stroking it gently.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” David responds, his voice low and dripping with want.

Edi gently motions to David to stop stroking him as he yanks his sweatpants off and climbs into bed with him. David adjusts himself beside Edi and he kisses him slowly. Lips first for a few beats before he invades Edi’s mouth with a seductive lick. Edi breaks the kiss smiling against David’s lips and gasps when he feels David’s hand grasp his cock once again, aligning it with his own and begins stroking the two of them together. It doesn’t take long for them both to leak pre come. The clear discharge weeps out and dampens David’s hand every time he pauses to stroke their tips. The caresses feel good, and Edi relaxes and tenses up as his pleasure starts to build up inside him.

David releases them both eventually and raises his hand with their seminal fluid to Edi’s lips. Without any prompting, Edi grabs David’s wrist to steady his hand while he licks his fingers clean. Emboldened by this, David inserts two of his fingers into Edi’s mouth for him to suck on. “You’re so nasty…in a _good_ way.” David whispers “I kinda like that in a guy.”

Edi says nothing. He sucks on David’s fingers languidly, his tongue darting over and around his digits while he holds eye contact.

David withdraws his fingers, and Edi licks around his mouth. “Are you going to fuck me now, or what?” he whispers.

It sends David over the edge. He leans forward to kiss Edi, tasting the salty bitterness of both of them on his tongue and his hands grasp Edi’s midsection tightly to relieve himself from the surge of an aggressive lust that begins to swell inside him, possessing him once more as it had when they were showering earlier.

☼

Their bodies are stacked in a classic sixty-nine position. David laying beneath Edi, working his entrance open with his fingers while Edi sucks on the enormity of David’s cock. He fellates him slowly, focusing mainly on the tip while he strokes him with his fist, loosely wrapped around his shaft. He laps up David’s fluids, leaking in copious amounts in response to his attentive stimulation. He feels David quiver beneath him every time he swallows him whole, exhaling through his nose against the sensitive skin between his thighs. He thinks for a moment of how good it feels to have David in his mouth, and how he wouldn’t mind if he shot his load in the back of his throat.

Even though they had just showered, the thrill of pleasuring each other is making them sweat with nervous excitement. The musky scents of their sex mix with their sweat, and for a moment, Edi wishes he had cracked his windows a smidge open to ventilate the room, but his mind goes blank when he feels David’s fingers inside him press against his prostate. David eventually signals to Edi with a playful squeeze and slap on his backside to stop, and Edi positions himself on his back, spreading his legs open like a wanton thing while David rolls on a condom along the length of his shaft and lubes himself up.

David fucks him with intent, dragging his cock in and out of him in slow, unbroken motions for the first few beats as the clench of Edi’s body melts away with every passing second that he surrenders himself to the pleasure of being taken. David is the first person he’s willingly fucked in years. He doesn’t count Diego. In fact, he lumps him in with the rest of his clients, making Luis the last person he’s freely shared his body with. The awareness of his own hunger makes him buck his hips to meet David’s thrusts and he tightens his grip around the bend of David’s neck as he whispers short phrases of encouragement to fuck him harder against the shell of his ear. He comes untouched, though the intermittent friction of his cock rubbing against David’s stomach helps to send him over the edge, and he spills himself in the space between the press of their bodies.

David continues to fuck him for a few more beats before he decides to pull out and peel off his condom. He strokes himself furiously until he finishes, letting the copious ropes of come fall on Edi’s abdomen. For a few seconds, he runs the palm of his hand over Edi’s tight stomach, mixing their seed together, admiring the mess they’ve made while he catches his breath.

They shower together, and David is quick to dab some of their come into Edi’s mouth before kissing him. Their tongues break up the threads of congealed seed before they each swallow reflexively and continue to kiss under the showerhead. The warm water washes off their sweat, semen, and remnants of lube—the scent of their sex clinging onto their skin coming off like a cloak, pooling by their feet. Edi thinks their sex has been incredibly intimate for someone he barely knows and doesn’t even love, but he doesn’t mention this to David. He writes it off them sharing a rare sexual connection, an artifact of them being on the same wavelength to some degree.

They’re quick to clean up, and dry themselves thoroughly. Edi sits at the edge of his bed, his towel loosely wrapped around his mid-section, and he contemplates the mess they’ve made of his bedsheets as he carefully towel dries his hair.

“We could do this again sometime.” David interrupts him from his thoughts as he walks over to pick up his cell phone he left on Edi’s night table. “Or even get a drink. Maybe even go dancing if you’re into the party scene. Let me get your number.” He asks nonchalantly.

“I think I’d like that.” Edi responds with a relaxed smile. He dictates the digits of his number as he exits his bedroom leaving both towels behind in search of his own cell phone, which had to be somewhere in one of his pockets in the heap of clothes he left on his living room floor.

David presses a warm hand over his shoulder when he leans in to give Edi a chaste parting kiss on his temple before walking out of his apartment.

The space all of a sudden seems much too quiet. The floorboards creak beneath him as he begins walking back to his bedroom with his phone in his hand, looking at his notifications. Edi sees the text message from what clearly is David’s phone number on top of all his older notifications, and his eyebrows leap in surprise when he sees a missed call from Diego Lugano from just five minutes ago. He calls him back immediately, putting his phone on speaker. He doesn’t care to get dressed right away and he walks towards his bedroom window, parting the curtains while he undoes the locks and cracks it open to air out the room.

“We’ve been playing cat and mouse all day.” Edi hears Lugano’s voice from the speakers. If there was a prototype for a voice of authority—Lugano certainly had it.

Edi lets out an airy laugh before he responds, “I’m glad to finally get a hold of you. It is kind of late, so if you can’t speak tonight—we can perhaps schedule a time—”

“Except I leave to São Paulo this weekend. I was in town this week to take care of some personal business. Can you meet me outside of _La Panera Rosa_ in 20 min?”

Edi’s almost ready to agree when he realizes he doesn’t have his car and he bites down on his lower lip in regret. His unwavering inner critic comes back to nag him. He should have gone straight home right after meeting with Dr. Tabárez. His harsh inner voice reprimands him, reminding him how it wasn’t like him to put pleasure over duty, and almost instantly—he feels disappointed in himself for being so irresponsible—choosing to enjoy a random tryst over keeping his thoughts focused on all matters pertaining to the case.

“I’ll be over as soon as I can, though I’d say I can be there in about half hour. I’m tending to some personal matters.” Edi responds as he scans his bedroom, and immediately walks over to his bed, tearing off the lube and come-stained bedsheets with his free hand.

Lugano probably hears the tension in his voice, because he offers Edi the assurance to take his time. “How about an hour from now? Would this work better?”

Edi’s shoulders relax from the relief of not having to rush. “Sure. I’ll meet you in an hour. Talk to you soon.” he responds before hanging up.

An hour is more than enough time to change his bedsheets, get dressed, take a cab back to the restaurant to pick up his car and drive out to _La Panera Rosa_.

☼

Edi parks his car in the near vicinity where he agreed to meet Lugano, and he walks into a local kiosk to purchase a bottle of water to stay hydrated. He’s feeling particularly run down—and he doesn’t know what’s to blame when there’s too many interlacing factors. He had sobered up after having one drink too many, he was coming down from the high of having some pretty good sex—something he hasn’t genuinely enjoyed in a while. He put in a full day in court earlier that day too—all while processing a painful break up and the downstream repercussions of disentangling his life from Diego’s _for good_.

It’s when he steps up to pay for his water that his eyes land on the cover of one of the local periodicals and reads the unsettling headline: “_Trial of ex-convict over the death of federal officer begins_.”

The pit in his stomach grows when he reads the first few lines, and recognizes the name of his own client—Leandro Paredes. He didn’t imagine this case would be publicized—but apparently it had gathered significant interest. He immediately picks up a copy, sliding it over the counter and pays an additional 5 _pesos_, not bothering to pick up the change. He darts out, newspaper and bottle in hand—walking briskly to _La Panera Rosa_.

☼

Lugano recognizes him first.

Edinson wasn’t sure at first glance whether the figure that was standing outside, keeping to himself while smoking a cigarette was him. From his demeanor to the way he was dressed, it dawns on Edi that he looks like cop. No sooner he thinks this, and the person in question tosses aside his cigarette and puts it out beneath him while making his way towards him. “You must be Edi,” he asserts, exhaling the last of his cigarette smoke while extending his hand as a perfunctory greeting.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me at such short notice.” Edi gives him a polite grin, shaking his hand firmly.

“You look like you could use a drink.” Lugano comments flatly as his eyes scan Edi’s overall appearance. “If I had known, I would have suggested a meeting at one of the local pubs.”

“It’s alright. A coffee will do.” Edi narrows his eyes.

Something about Lugano’s probing eyes makes him uneasy. It was if the guy could see right through him and read him like an open book. He’s grown accustomed to the feeling of standing before someone’s lustful gaze as they mentally undressed him. But with Lugano, he feels as if he’s stripping him down to get to his soul—and if he didn’t put up some kind of a wall between them, he’d uncover all the parts to him he prefers to keep only to himself. Away from everyone’s scrutiny and judgements. He quickly breaks eye contact, motioning with his head for them to get down to business.

“Whatever you’re having is on me.” Edinson adds as they both head inside and find a table where they have some degree of privacy.

Lugano’s older than him. At least by at least a decade, Edi guesses to himself. Despite the age, he looks quite handsome. His eyes are the color of brown amber and his dark blonde locks bring out the golden tones of his eyes, even under the cold light of the establishment. If it’s true that by age 40, the lines of your face will tell the world whether you’ve spent most of your life laughing or frowning—Edi wants to bet from the hardness of Lugano’s features, that this man hasn’t had an easy life, or a very happy one at most.

When the server stops by their table to take their order, Edi asks for a cappuccino and Lugano orders a black coffee with no sugar.

“I gotta tell you—I’m not a fan of Starbucks.” Lugano makes small talk in the presence of their waiter, “Their roast is so bad that they have to drown it in loads of sugar and dairy that it practically becomes liquid cake.” He gives the waiter a short nod of acknowledgement before he turns his attention to Edi. “The true earmark of a good brew is when you can have it _black_ and not add anything to it except maybe a dash of cream. I like to taste the bitters and the background hints of sweetness.”

“Dr. Tabárez tells me you used to be a cop.” Edinson brings his arms over his chest and leans forward. He’s not in the mood to shoot the shit or to make small talk. Lugano was a retired cop from what he knows, and cops just couldn’t be trusted. He was simply here to get what he needed from him and leave. He wouldn’t fall for the pretense of putting up a friendly front to get him to like him or trust him.

“I did five years as a regular beat cop before I became inspector, and eventually promoted to chief inspector.” Lugano leans forward, crossing his arms over his chest, mirroring Edi’s posture. “But neither of us came all the way out here to talk about my CV or my career in law enforcement. So let’s just cut to the chase and ask me what you need to know.”

Edi briefly lowers his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek. He makes a note to curtail his inner monologue, because clearly Lugano could read his private thoughts too, and he wonders if his years of being a detective and interrogating suspects has made Lugano outstandingly good at reading people.

“I’m hoping you could tell me more about Chief Inspector López. I understand you _knew_ him.” Edi uncrosses his arms and pulls up his briefcase onto his lap to pull out his legal pad. “Do you mind if I take notes?” he asks Lugano while he rummages for a pen.

Lugano makes a dismissive gesture, the corner of his lips tugging to the side. He doesn’t seem thrilled at the idea of it but eventually consents. “Sure, go ahead.”

Their waiter brings them their drinks and Lugano peels open one of the servings of cream and pours it into his coffee, stirring it listlessly with his spoon.

“In full disclosure, López was an absolute degenerate.” Lugano raises his eyes momentarily before he sets down his spoon and takes a sip of his coffee, “Everyone knew it and yet no one did anything about it. On the _contrary_,” he emphasizes with his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes widening, “For every internal complaint about his professionalism, he was rewarded and promoted.”

“He was a bad apple.” Edi mumbles, keeping his eyes fixed on his legal pad as he begins jotting down simple notes.

“Except it’s not as simple as that.” Lugano counters, “It’s lazy thinking to believe that the reason law enforcement is so fucked in this country is just because of a few bad apples. If Tabárez told you I retired—you were told wrong. I _quit_.”

Edinson stops writing and looks up for a moment, eyes scanning Lugano’s face expectantly.

“The entire bushel of apples is rotten,” Lugano continues keeping steady eye contact as he holds his coffee close to his lips, “and during that time, things had gotten to the point where I could no longer keep silent and abide by our internal code of honor…and be _okay_ with myself.”

Lugano pauses to sip on his coffee and Edi picks up his cappuccino. While he takes a sip, carefully running the tip of his tongue over his lip to catch the foam, he thinks that perhaps he had judged Lugano wrong.

☼

Edinson decides the next day, after catching up on sleep, that his weekend will consist mainly of prep work in relation to the Paredes trial. He fleshes out his notes from his meeting with Lugano last night during breakfast and he heads out for a quick morning run. He showers and dedicates the rest of his morning to do laundry and to tidy up the place. He’s grateful that he doesn’t have to worry about making lunch because Martín had made him milanesas. All he’s got to do is warm them up in the oven.

He’s finishing up his meal when it occurs to him to send Martín a ‘thank you’ text. Martín doesn’t acknowledge his gratitude, but responds with a rather curt response, asking when would he be coming to pick up the last of his boxes.

Edinson knows Martín long enough to decipher from his texting patterns when he was annoyed with him. He sets his fork down for a moment and lets out a frustrated sigh. He doesn’t need the extra drama right now and it bothers him that something as trivial as him enjoying a casual tryst has unnerved his friend. It just didn’t make sense to him. This is the kind of response he could expect from a love interest expressing jealousy. He decides to keep his response short and to the point.

_ I’ll stop by later this_

_ evening if that’s okay._

_ Is 21 hrs good?_

He figures they can parse apart whatever issues between them in person later than night. He puts this out of his thoughts when he receives a text from David asking if he managed to evade a hangover. If he’s being honest with himself, he never expected to hear from David again. For all the transactional sex he’s had in the past, he doesn’t expect anyone to stay or to last long. His encounter with David would have just remained a one time thing, and he would have been fine with it. He’s responding to David’s text when he receives a response from Martín:

_Sure. 21 hrs works._

☼

Edinson hits some traffic and so he arrives at Martín’s place just a few minutes past 9 in the evening. He walks up the steps of his stoop and sends him a text to let him know he was outside as the doorbell to his floor was broken.

“Hey,” Martín gestures to him to step inside. He had showered not long ago, judging from the way his long black hair hung over his shoulders like wild tendrils. He combs through his damp hair with a wide tooth comb as they both walk up to the second floor.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Martín asks while Edi hands him back his container.

Edi shakes his head. “I’m just going to pick up the remaining boxes, and I’ll be out of your hair soon.” he responds as he walks over to Martín’s living room and picks up the first box. He figures that he wants to get this out of the way before hashing out their unresolved discussion from Friday evening. He ends up making a total of seven trips, going up and down the stairs—arranging his boxes in his trunk and the backseat in a way they would all fit and not block his view from the rearview mirror.

“Tincho, can I get a glass of water?” Edi asks when he had finished packing everything up.

Martín walks over from the living room, where he was idling on his sofa, watching television and gets a glass from one of the overhead cupboards and opens up the faucet.

“You’ve been here so many times, you’d think that by now, you'd be fine with making yourself at home and not ask for the basic things.” Martín ribs him as he sets down the glass for Edi on the counter.

“Thank you.” Edi whispers before he takes a generous sip.

Martín leans against his kitchen counter on one of his forearms. “Edi, about last night…”

“I was just about to bring it up.” Edi comments, setting the glass down before giving Martín his undivided attention.

“You’re my best friend.” Martín briefly lowers his eyes, scratching the side of his face. “It’s the way I’ve always loved you. As my _friend_.”

For a second that seems to drag on for too long, they stare at each other for a while, and it registers in Edi’s head how the way Martín had prefaced their discussion—underscoring their friendship—could only mean that it was being threatened by something that happened between them. He runs his tongue over his lips and takes another sip of his water before he responds. “Tincho—we’ve been through so much together. I can’t imagine what now could possibly get in the way of us being such good friends.”

“I haven’t brought it up because I know you’re going through a really hard time. I really want to believe the reason you haven’t been yourself as of late is because of everything that’s happened…but you’ve _changed_.”

_I’ve changed?_ Edinson thinks to himself. He keeps it to himself because he doesn’t want to come across as defensive. He wants to listen to what Martín has to say before responding.

“You’ve changed,” Martín repeats himself, “and I’ve changed too…and it’s changed the way I think about us and our friendship.”

“How have I changed?” Edi asks, trying to keep the tone of his voice neutral, though it’s hard for him to not feel attacked. How could Martín be so thoughtless and judge him based on any of their recent interactions from the span of a few weeks when he knows full well he’s under an immense amount of pressure from all sides? At the very least, he could try to take everything he may have said that was off hand with a pinch of salt and cut him some slack.

“I’m hoping this is just a phase. It makes sense to be angry at people and with life after going through what you’ve been through…but I’m worried that you’ve changed in the way you see people. You don’t value them the way you used to.” Martín stands upright.

“Tincho…you know that’s not true. I value you. I value my clients. I value my staff—”

“I didn’t think it was like you to just be so casual when it comes to intimacy. Edi—you have just ended a significant relationship. Someone you were _enaged_ to. And not even a couple of weeks later, you’re sleeping with—”

“Tincho, it’s just sex. We both wanted it and neither he or me are looking for anything serious besides having fun for the time being. It works for us.” He lets out a short huff of laughter, “It doesn’t mean I’ve just started using people for my own needs and wants.”

“Doesn’t having sex with someone mean anything to you anymore rather than just a way to get off?” Martín’s long dark eyebrows push upwards in concern.

_Sometimes having sex just to get off is the whole point_. Edi thinks to himself. He presses his lips tightly to continue listening.

“This is what I’ve been trying to get at with you this whole time over why it really bothered me that you got pulled into sex work. I work directly with villa prostitutes—and they all are so severely traumatized from their experiences that they lose any interest or ability to cultivate intimacy and build loving relationships.”

“You’re forgetting that I just ended a relationship and I’m not emotionally available to give myself away like that to someone again when it’s much too soon.” Edi scratches the inside of his arm nervously. “I don’t think it’s fair to say that I don’t care to find love or look forward to being in love one day. I just don’t see what sex has to do with love or with intimacy." he pauses for a moment and holds Martín's gaze.

"Look—something just doesn’t make sense here,” Edi emphasizes, “This sudden change of attitude from you and how you see me was very noticeable when you came by last night and I told you I had company. Just…please tell me. What did I do that made you so upset?”

Martín approaches Edi, closing in on the space between them. He extends a hand, and rakes his fingers along the side of Edi’s head, gently tucking his hair behind his ear before he leans forward and presses his lips over Edi’s mouth.

Edinson shuts his eyes and gasps reflexively, as if suddenly understanding what this was all about. Martín is quick to capture Edi’s lower lip when his mouth parts open in astonishment. He grasps both sides of his face to hold him against him and Edi brings both his hands over Martín’s chest, pushing back—communicating his resistance.

Martín takes the hint and ends the kiss, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Edi’s for a moment before he withdraws his hands from the sides of his face and steps back.

“I love you, Edi. It took me a while to see it…but I’ve been in love with you for years.” Martín’s voice is shaking, barely above a whisper.

Edi looks back in astonishment, Martín’s confession feeling too much like a punch to the gut that he can’t think of what to say when his thoughts are all scrambled and it feels like he’s forgotten how to _breathe_.

“You don’t have to decide what it is that you want now.” Martín continues, “But what I can promise you is that what we’ll have together won’t be like that other mess.”

Edi looks away, failing to hide the grimacing expression on his face. His chest tightens to the point where it feels painful to breathe. Among the torrent of emotions and impulses, his first instinct is to leave Martín’s apartment before he does or says something he might regret.

As far as their friendship is concerned—they've lost it. Martín had just communicated to him that he loves him and wants to be more than just a friend. There was no open door for them to continue their relationship as they both knew it when he _knows_ he can’t return Martín’s love for him. Not now. And he isn’t sure if he will ever be able to when all his life, he’s only seen him as just a _friend_.

“I think for now…I’d prefer if maybe we took time off seeing and talking to each other.” Is all Edi can think of to say to Martín before he sees his way out. It’s in the way Martín shuts his eyes and takes a sharp intake of breath that tells Edi he’s gutted him and whatever hopes he had with the coldness of his response.

When Edinson finally gets inside of his car and adjusts his seatbelt, he slams an angry fist over the steering wheel before he inclines his head to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last "light" chapter before things start to get heavy. The next chapter, I am back to covering the trial. I'd like to remind you to read the author's notes warnings and read the tags. Really heavy, angsty stuff is about to unfold.
> 
> Part of the way I chose to render Diego Lugano came directly from a one-shot crack fic Maria wrote for me a couple of years ago: [Black, no sugar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662895). If you're looking for a distraction to shake off the angst and laugh, I recommend her fic. I will unabashedly recommend any good Uruguay NT fic, since there aren't too many fics showing _La gloriosa Celeste_ enough love.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for following this piece.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are graphic descriptions of injuries stemming from acts of violence on this chapter. It was very difficult to write, and it's by far not the most difficult with what's to come. I'm going to try to lace the angst of the trial with backstories or other interactions that are lighthearted for some balance.
> 
> Enjoy the update :)

Edinson is in the middle of cooking himself lunch, dicing up some chicken on his cutting board when his cellphone goes off, buzzing against the hardwood kitchen table. Without an afterthought, he throws the bits into the pan, stirring the chicken with a few swipes of his wooden spoon. He sets it aside, and checks on his pasta. He grimaces when something sticky clings onto the palm of his hand. He inspects himself and sees that it’s just a bit of the fat he had trimmed. He reaches for the nearest kitchen rag to wipe his hands clean before attending to his phone. His eyes widen momentarily with surprise when he sees it’s coming from the Penitentiary of Ezeiza.

“Edi Cavani, attorney at law speaking.” He answers placidly.

“Hey, it’s Paulo. Do you have a moment? Actually…do you have some time to talk?” Paulo speaks, a note of sadness in his voice.

_You caught me in the middle of making lunch and I’m in a shitty enough mood as it is_. Edi thinks. Instead, he responds, “Sure, is it an emergency?” He walks back to the kitchen counter, resting his phone on a clean surface and he quickly taps '_speaker._'

“Well, sort of. Though not exactly.” Paulo answers.

“Well, let’s hear it.” Edi takes a sharp intake of breath, mildly irritated with Paulo’s response. Either something is an emergency, or it isn’t. He can’t imagine an in-between situation where someone wouldn’t know whether you could call it an emergency, or not. He tends briefly to his chicken, stirring the strips occasionally. They’re still raw—pale pink in the middle.

“I was arrested…two weeks ago. It’s why I couldn’t be in court for the first day of my cousin’s trial…” Paulo’s voice is faint.

Silence creeps in like an unwelcome intruder between them. It’s so quiet, Edi hears the faint sizzling of his chicken cooking on low flame and he clears his throat audibly. “You didn’t call me earlier? Or call on anyone else to represent you?”

“First of all, I can’t _afford_ your rates.” Paulo snaps, “The city set me up with a public defender, and he counseled me to negotiate a plea-bargain. It would be too much work and time to drag things out in court.”

“You should have called me,” Edi responds, mindful to keep his voice neutral though internally his heart is racing from a mix of panic and mild anger, “I would have been willing to negotiate a rate that is affordable. But let’s not waste time on what’s now water under the bridge—what have you been charged with? And how have you decided to answer to these charges?”

“I’ve been charged for being both an accessory and as a party to the crime my cousin committed…among other things. Things I completely forgot to tell you.” Paulo responds, “I didn’t want to take my chances, possibly looking to do more time that necessary…so I’ve negotiated a plea bargain.”

_More like things you didn’t want to tell me_. Edinson thinks. Somewhere between the time he gets hit with a wave of dizziness to him shutting off the flame and tossing the chicken into his fettuccine, Paulo confesses everything to Edi.

He apologizes for the late call. The warden allows inmates to make personal phone calls on the weekends, a privilege he didn’t earn until a week of modeling good behavior. He also confesses that the only reason he was calling was because Dr. Tabárez had prompted him to do so. He had taken the time to visit him earlier that morning. He then cuts to the chase, telling Edinson he had known for a while Mauro Icardi had been involved in shady enterprises since getting out of prison, and that he had been trying to get Leandro in on the business of distributing cocaine. But where Leandro wanted to stay out of trouble, Paulo found the prospects of handling the business end of narcotrafficking enticing. Paulo believed in Mauro’s assurance that “he could make serious bank” counseling Mauro and others on how to launder their ill-gotten money. He never actually told Leandro of his own decision to get involved, which was done in part to protect him. His failure was not realizing that López had caught onto their game and that he would attempt to use him as a way to implicate Leandro in a crime he didn’t commit to get him back in prison. Paulo also confessed that it was to his benefit to let Leandro to kill López, and hoped his death would also lead to an end in anyone investigating him. _Except it didn’t_.

“They agreed to drop several of the charges, including the charge for perjury _completely_…if my testimony supports my cousin’s indictment.” An exhale sighs out of Paulo’s mouth. “It’s not as if they’re asking me to lie in court. I _know_ Leandro—he _is_ a hot head. López being on his case was pissing him off. He wanted to kill him. He _intended_ to kill him.”

All Edi can hear from the moment Paulo stops speaking is the beat of his heart, marking the passing of time. One beat. Two beats. Three beats. _Leandro intended to kill López? Tell me, how exactly do you prove intent with your testimony?_ He thinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Edinson doesn’t even try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I was trying to figure out what would be the best course of action. _For me_. I didn’t think it would all catch up this fast and I’d be pressed to make a decision with little time.” Paulo answers, his voice catching with despair. “My cousin is already fucked as it is. I’ve accepted this. And I know you’re only doing your job—but maybe you should accept that he’s already a dead man.”

Edinson doesn’t think it over. He ends the call, not caring if it makes him look unprofessional. Beyond nonplussed, he walks over to his kitchen table and pulls out a chair for him to sit and process everything Paulo had just said.

After he’s had a few moments to recover from the shock of being blindsided, he speculates on what these turn of events could mean for Leandro. Edi swiftly gets out of his chair and walks towards his room to retrieve his original notes he took from when he had spoken with Paulo. His eyes skim until he gets to the part where he discusses his relationship to Mauro Icardi, and the growing tensions between Leandro and Chief Inspector López, who had made unwanted contact with him on several occasions.

Paulo had lied to him from day 1. He sees it clearly now—_in retrospect_. As he reads over his notes, he pictures Paulo in front of him, avoiding eye contact, meticulously tending to his socks like some nervous tick. Something to take the stress of having to suppress a guilty conscience. He remembers Paulo telling him, “_I just wish we could go back in time_.”

Edinson exhales a sigh and bring a hand over his tired eyes.

“Me too,” he voices his regret out loud to the emptiness of his apartment space, “I wish we could all go back in time.”

☼

Edinson arrives two hours in advance to meet with Leandro on Monday, before his trial resumes. He's surprised to learn that Leandro already knew of Paulo's incarceration. They've run into each other during the morning showers. During meal times. During supervised recreational periods. But they never had a chance to really talk. 

There is no diplomatic way to break the news to him on Paulo, and how this would ultimately change the way he had prepared his defense.

He sits on the bench across from Leandro’s holding cell, recounting everything Paulo had told him over the phone Sunday afternoon. During the duration of his debriefing, Leandro remains quiet. He sits, hunched over with a hand over his mouth while his eyes stay riveted on Edinson’s every movement. He listens attentively, with dumbfounded wonder as he learns of Paulo's betrayal.

“I’ve spent the entirety of yesterday thinking of any way we can reframe your case…your situation before the court.” Edinson licks his lips briefly, lowering his eyes as he shifts through his notes. “And I thought it might be important for the court to keep in mind the circumstances of how you were raised and the hardship you’ve had to adapt to.”

“They don’t care…and they _won’t_ care.” Leandro looks down at the tiled floors.

“You don’t know that for sure.” Edinson smacks his notepad with the back of his hand for emphasis.

“Except, I do know for sure that no one in that courtroom will care.” Leandro lifts his eyes once more and he looks into Edi’s eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed…but after the opening statements, some members of the jury had checked out. One of them even fell _asleep_.” Leandro snorts, shaking his head. “The decision of whether I get to live in prison for most of my life, or die is up to these people that can’t even be paid to care…and you really think some sob story about my upbringing is going to make _any_ difference?”

Edinson opens his mouth to speak then closes it quickly. Moments later, he picks up his briefcase and puts his notepad away. The sharp, pungent scent of ammonia and disinfectant hits their nostrils when one of the custodians begins his patient chore of mopping the floors as he does every morning.

“Sorry if this offends you, Edi,” Leandro’s tongue flits over his front teeth as if he’s carefully measuring what he’s about to say, “but you’re more naïve than I thought you were.”

Edinson shuts his eyes to hide his irritation. He was two seconds away from saying something he knows he probably shouldn’t, or flash an inappropriate display of emotion in front of Leandro. _His client_. He makes a note of how his patience and ability to keep his collected demeanor has diminished _significantly_.

“I’m not naïve. I _care_.” He responds to Leandro after a brief pause, “There’s a marginal difference between caring and being plain stupid.”

Leandro looks away, focusing on the janitor’s methodical strokes as he mops the floors and shifts in his seat nervously. It’s not that he doesn’t care to listen to what Edi has to say. He doesn’t want to listen to Edi give him any false hope. He figures it would just be easier to make peace with the idea that he will be condemned to death and accept his fate. It was just less painful this way, but how could he make Edi understand this?

“Leandro, look at me.” Edinson asks Leandro.

“I’m listening.” He responds with disintrest.

“I _know_ the law, and I’ve been practicing law enough that nothing surprises me anymore…I’ve been disillusioned in every way imaginable, but none of these experiences have ever made me stop fighting for any cause I believe in.”

Leandro shakes his head slightly and for a second, he looks like he wants to speak, but Edinson signals to him to hold on to his thoughts.

“Your life matters. No one should have the right to take it away from you,” he emphasizes. He picks up his briefcase and rummages through his stack of files and he pulls out a newspaper clipping. “As much as you’ve been told that no one cares about you…and even though you’ve allowed this place to let you believe it…there are good people out there who do care.”

Edinson transfers the newspaper clipping to Leandro’s hands.

“News of your trial made the front page. Look.” He instructs Leandro. “There is a sizable amount of people who are opposed to the death penalty and want to see that it’s done away with in Argentina. Just this morning, outside of the courthouse, there was a crowd that had gathered to protest peacefully.”

Leandro’s eyes scan over the article before he hands it back to Edinson.

“It’s easy to color the world all in black when the majority of your experiences lead you to believe it, Leandro.” Edinson folds up the clipping and stores it away in his briefcase once more. “Until we have exhausted absolutely everything, I have hope for you.”

☼

Mauro Icardi is dressed in a navy-blue suit, and his tattoos are clearly visible around his neck. He looks nothing like his scruffy mug shot photograph glued into the top righthand corner of his arrest record. Edinson estimates that he’s at least lost 3 kgs, and the buzz cut haircut doesn’t help his gaunt appearance.

Just by looking at him, no one would guess he was currently serving time. When Mauro makes his way up the witness stand, his gait is rushed as if something might nip him at his heels if he doesn’t get up there quickly enough. From the corner of his eye, Edinson can see Leandro looking away from Mauro’s general direction. Shortly after, Leandro picks up his pen and taps it on the legal pad in front of him. He scribbles something on the page and slides it into Edinson’s view.

_I’m hoping they castrate him with a nail clipper._

Edinson bites down on his lip. He wants to bring his hand over Leandro’s hand and tell him that his anger is justified. That he too shares his concern that Mauro’s testimony may be dubious. He might be willing to say anything to appear cooperative enough with the DA’s office if it means shaving off time in prison or whatever arrangement they’ve negotiated. He’d do whatever it takes. Even if it means throwing both him and Paulo—two of his friends—under the bus. Whatever he has to say will not be easy for neither of them to listen to—but nonetheless, they have to maintain composure. He picks up his own pen and writes a couple of lines beneath what Leandro wrote:

_The jury’s eyes will not just be on Mauro. They’ll be on you too. Any reaction from you might be taken the wrong way. Our turn will come when we can try to overturn what he’s said with the facts. For now, keep a straight face._

Edinson slides the legal pad into Leandro’s view and he turns his attention to Mauro and Luis.

“I’ve known Leandro since I was a puppy…” Mauro answers Luis’ question, “…since we were _kids_.” He corrects himself quickly enough after Luis throws him a warning glance to speak plainly and not in his usual street vernacular. “We also ended up doing time together.” He adds earnestly.

The whole act of dragging Leandro down with him makes Edinson sick to his stomach. On the stand, Mauro looked like a perfect puppet, and it was just too bad he hadn’t acquired Pinocchio-esque characteristics—such as having his nose grow incrementally with each lie so that his mendacity could be plainly visible for all to see. He looked too eager to cooperate, much too attentive to Luis’ non-verbal prompts. For a second, Edinson thinks that Luis could ask Mauro to blow him on the spot _and he’d do it_. He was speaking under pressure—and Edinson wonders whether anyone else could see how obvious it was that the prosecution had him by the balls. He’d claim 2 + 2 = 5 if it meant getting on the law’s good graces.

Leandro begins to fidget impatiently and Edinson has to lower his hand to tap him over his knee. He discreetly leans close, nearly cheek-to-cheek to whisper to Leandro, sure to cover his mouth with his hand, “Our turn will come. _Just be patient_.”

“The second time I was arrested by Chief Inspector López _himself_. I had only been out of prison for a little over a year. I had trouble finding a job…so I went back to what I used to do.” Mauro fiddles nervously with the sleeve of his suit jacket. “I went back to peddling dope. It was easy money.”

“Would you say that given your shared history with defendant Paredes’, that it didn’t take much to convince him to get involved in the enterprise of distributing narcotics?” Luis asks.

Edinson presses his lips together and speaks into his microphone before Mauro poises himself to answer Luis’ question. “Objection, your honor. He’s leading the witness.” He keeps his eyes fixed on Justice Sampaoli because he was sure if he looked in Luis’ direction, he’d have a hard time keeping his anger curtailed.

“Sustained. Please rephrase your question, counselor Suárez.” Sampaoli addresses the court listlessly.

Luis lowers his eyes, mildly chastened as he looks over his notes and Edinson cracks open his water bottle and takes a sip. It’s only thirty minutes past 10, and from the way the day had begun, he could tell it was going to be a long one.

Not even minutes later, he raises another objection and asks for a sidebar with Luis.

“I just don’t see what Icardi’s testimony has of value specifically pertaining to this case!” Edinson argues with Justice Sampaoli. “Digging up dirt from the past that my client has already paid for by doing time is irrelevant—and Icardi’s word isn’t proof that my client was recently involved in the distribution of narcotics. All his testimony is doing is simply manipulating the Jury’s perception of my client in a way that’s _unfavorable_.”

“The purpose of Icardi’s testimony is to provide the Jury with a reference pertaining to defendant Paredes’ character.” Luis counters while he continues presenting his case for proceeding with Icardi’s testimony to Justice Sampaoli. “The Jury should decide whether his testimony is useful when they deliberate on the verdict.”

“Although I’m inclined to side with counselor Cavani’s argument, I will allow you to continue questioning Icardi—provided that further questioning stays pertinent to the _current_ case.” Justice Sampaoli addresses Luis before dismissing them both.

Edinson flits his eyes over to Leandro’s direction. A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his lips and he turns to look at Luis, who looks moderately disgruntled.

_It was a small win_.

☼

When it’s Edinson’s turn to cross examine Mauro, he makes it a point to underscore that he had taken a plea bargain just so that the Jury would be well-aware of the underlying factors driving his testimony. Depending on what deal he had negotiated with the district attorney’s office—it would certainly influence his testimony and even pressure him to lie under oath. He asks Mauro to go over his side of the story and catches him on a few discrepancies.

“So which is it then, Mr. Icardi? Did Leandro accept the proposition? Or was it his cousin, Paulo that accepted the proposition you made?”

Mauro stays quiet, looking ahead at Luis for a few seconds before he turns to look at Edinson.

“Your story keeps changing…” Edi slowly turns away from the witness stand to face the Jury, “…which leaves room for doubt that Leandro ever got involved to begin with.”

“Now that I think of it again, it was his cousin? Yeah, it was his cousin, Paulo.” Mauro responds.

“And of this, you are absolutely certain?” Edinson turns once more to face Mauro.

“Yes.” Mauro responds and raises his hand to wipe his mouth.

“You’re certain of this now? That you got Paulo to accept the proposition and _not_ Leandro, your childhood friend—”

“Objection, your honor.” Luis rises from his seat, “he’s harassing the witness.”

“I’m just trying to get the facts straight, your honor.” Edinson turns his head to face Justice Sampaoli.

“Overruled, but get to the point, counselor.” Justice Sampaoli glowers, “You’ve been perseverating on the same points for the last five minutes.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Edinson nods in his direction before he turns once more to Mauro.

“I hope you remember what you just told me in front of the whole court today when we corroborate your statements against the others.” He swipes his tongue over his lips and lowers his eyes to read his notes. “I have no further questioning.”

☼

Dr. Luján Cardozo, the emergency room physician, was next in line as an expert witness to explain Chief Inspector López’s autopsy report in layman’s terms to the court.

One by one, Luis introduces the photographs obtained from the scene of the crime as well as the imaging reports obtained at the hospital to characterize each of López’s injuries into evidence.

It’s not like the sight of blood makes Edinson squeamish. He’s seen autopsy photographs before. But the ones pertaining to Leandro’s trial take the wind out of him. He can’t deny that his client was responsible for inflicting these gruesome injuries. He has no control how the Jury would respond once they get their hands on them. He notes the raised patches of pink skin where Leandro’s fingernails had scraped over López’s face. They are the mildest of contusions compared to the swollen, bruised eye, the split upper lip, fleshy red skin broken and curling back like flower petals, or the patch of his scalp with congealed blood. The MRI of López’s brain taken in sagittal sections is littered with white asterisks and arrows, corresponding to different injuries.

“The blunt trauma to the back of his head resulted in what we term a _subarachnoid hemorrhage_, which I will now refer to as an SAH. Basically, an SAH is a pool of blood collecting between the surface of the brain and the subarachnoid space, which one of the central nervous system’s _meninges_—or layers that surround and envelop the brain and spinal cord. With nowhere to go, this blood continues to accumulate, adding pressure, which results in more injury to surrounding brain tissue. If not treated quickly, an SAH will lead to death.” Dr. Cardozo speaks slow and clearly into the microphone while using a laser pointer to point to the area corresponding to what would be the back of López’s head on a blown up image projected onto the screen.

“Based on the report, and my experience dealing with traumatic head injuries, Mr. López lost his vision and then lost consciousness. The region of the brain that was most impacted was the _occipital_ lobe, which largely processes visual information. The rapid accumulation of blood following injury led to an interruption of communication within this system. One of the clinical symptoms of an SAH is loss of consciousness. I can attest that this loss of vision rendered Mr. López from being able to orient himself or where he was in relation to his assailant.”

“What was the cause of death, Dr. Cardozo?” Luis asks her.

Dr. Cardozo breaks the seal of her water bottle and takes a generous sip before she answers the question.

“We have determined that the cause of death wasn’t this brain injury, but rather _asphyxiation_. When Mr. López lost consciousness, he lost the ability to fend for himself. His assailant cut off his air supply by restricting the flow of air. We found a substantial amount of blood that had accumulated and congealed in the back of his throat, but this was not what had obstructed the airway.”

“Dr. Cardozo, I’m no expert in medicine, but would it be a naïve assumption to say that if what caused Chief Inspector López’s death was not the blood that had trickled down to the throat from the injuries to his nasal cavity and gums that congealed, but rather the actual unrelenting pressure to the _larynx_…that his assailant intended to kill Mr. López?”

Dr. Cardozo pauses briefly to think about Luis’ question before she answers.

“No…I don’t think it would be a naïve assumption, but my job is not to speculate. I’m just reporting the facts.”

“Thank you, for your expert testimony. I have no further questions, Dr. Cardozo.” Luis addresses her before returning to his seat.

As Edinson prepares to approach Dr. Cardozo for his cross examination, he notices Leandro stirring nervously in his seat.

☼

Edinson is washing hands in the bathroom, when Luis zips up his dress pants and adjusts his belt and approaches the sinks to wash his hands.

There’s no one else in the bathrooms, so Luis nudges Edinson with his elbow.

“What more evidence do you need that that, Edi?,” he lets out a huff of air shaking his head. “You still think he doesn’t deserve the death penalty?”

Edinson stays silent, though on the inside he imagines shaking off the excess water from his hands before grabbing Luis by the collar of his freshly pressed white shirt and slamming him against the nearest wall.

“Paredes is going to get what he deserves. Only an animal with no soul and no remorse would do what he just did.”

Edinson shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He imagines Luis against the wall, with his typical smug, self-assured look in his face and the satisfaction of wiping that expression clear with a punch to the jaw. Knuckles twisting on impact to make it hurt.

“You can’t pay your way out of this one, Edi. Better yet…you can’t fuck your way out.” Luis shuts off the water and yanks several paper towels from the dispenser to dab his hands dry before tossing them on his way out.

Edinson opens his eyes and exhales as if he's been holding in his breath for too long. For a few seconds, all he can do is watch as the water continues to run over his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my last update in a while. I'm taking time off to focus on self care. I'm under a lot of stress, and while writing fic helps sometimes to take the focus off my problems/worries...I'm trying to adopt other strategies that are less avoidant and more about accepting life as it is. I will continue to write and post under the right conditions, just not very frequently. For those who've been so patient with me, thank you. Thanks for following this story, and I can't wait to finish it and get it out of my system.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,  
I got sick (not COVID), so I found myself with more time than expected to write this update.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains references to underage sex and an illicit, underage relationship. It also contains religious imagery, and references (Hey, some people have a complicated relationship with religion, and they might be put off or triggered by it.).  
Please read this update with caution, as some parts may be triggering. I've written this chapter in a way that it can be skipped without making the reader lose any sense of the unfolding plot with regards to the trial. Although I will say, this chapter does delve deeper into the character's development. I leave the decision to the sensitivity of my readers. If you proceed, you do so at your own risk. It was very difficult for me to write some parts.
> 
> Despite this being a painful chapter in a way that's not directly related to the trial, I hope you enjoy the update.

Edinson returns Diego’s missed call on his commute from the courthouse to his office, putting him on speaker. He shuts him out from knowing anything about him despite the fact that they start out talking in friendly banter. He deflects all of Diego’s questions, answering them without really answering them.

Just as he figured, Diego had called him to find out what was the status of his decision with regards to his office space. Although Edi had already made up his mind and was determined to sell it, he bargains for more time. He needs time to search for a temporary office space. He needs time to relocate. He intends to let his employees know of his plans that very afternoon because he needs to give them time to decide to either look for employment elsewhere or follow him into his new venture. He wants Diego to think that he was still entertaining the proposition. He doesn’t need to know his next move.

“Give me until the end of this month.” Edi asks as he’s preparing to merge into _La Panamericana_. “I’m juggling a lot…especially now that one of my cases has gone to trial.”

“You’re the lawyer for the Paredes case.” Diego comments. “I saw it on the papers—he killed a federal officer and how he’s facing the death penalty.”

“You know I’m not allowed to talk about my cases until after the trial has ended.” Edi reminds Diego. “So sorry if I can’t say much…but yes, I took that case.”

“You know, if I had known you had such a major case in your hands, I would have given you more space to work on it.” Diego lets out a sigh, “All you had to do was ask, _sweetheart_.”

Edinson rolls his eyes. _I did tell you. In more than one occasion, you self-absorbed pig head_. He thinks. From experience, he knows it’s better to not say anything. He has no patience to deal with Diego’s attempts to manipulate his perceptions that he had always been the kind and understanding partner.

“Diego, I’m going to have to let you go. I’m getting a call from my secretary. We’ll be in touch.” He says before he ends the call.

Diego was no longer entitled to his time or his sympathies. All Edi cares about now was making the breakup as clean as possible to avoid ever having to deal with him again. He was never one to leave a door half-opened.

When he arrives to his office, some 15 minutes later, he seeks out Lautaro, his right hand, to meet with him privately. Edinson wants him to be the first to know of his intention to relocate his practice.

☼

_What are you doing?_

David texts him as he’s leaving his office.

Edinson has received enough of these texts to know they only meant one thing, and one thing only. He lets out a quiet, breathless laugh as he shakes his head, smiling. He’s had a pretty stressful day. He doesn’t know if he’d be up to meeting with David for a late, impromptu tryst. He was due in court tomorrow morning for the continuation of Leandro’s trial. The prosecution was now on Day 3 of presenting their case, but that didn’t mean he could afford to relax. If anything, he had to be on high alert for any opportunity to poke holes in Luis’ case. From the way the trial was going, especially after Dr. Cardozo’s expert testimony—things were not looking very good for Leandro. He responds:

_I just got out of work._

_ Preparing for tomorrow._

_ Why?_

David responds:

_Come to Caracas._

_I get off in a couple hrs_.

Edinson doesn’t respond and walks to his car. He’s getting settled and he’s bucking up when he receives another text from David.

_Come on. You know_

_you want to._

☼

They’re making their way up the stairs to David’s apartment, and Edinson comments on how badly lit the stairways were, to which David shrugs off, saying it was something you get used to eventually.

They get straight to it, not pretending this encounter was just anything more than a last-minute excuse to fuck. In the throes of their passion, David presses the palm of his hand over Edi’s mouth to muffle his cries.

“I forgot to tell you…” David pants after he finishes. He buries his face in the crook of Edi’s neck, and chortles “my walls are paper thin. My neighbors can hear _everything_.”

Edinson laughs quietly while still catching his breath.

“I think the last time I had to make an effort to stay quiet was when I was in law school. I had a boyfriend then…and we had this thing where we’d look for empty classrooms and pray we wouldn’t get caught.”

“Did you ever get caught?” David asks as he gets out of bed to throw out his condom.

“Surprisingly…no.” Edi responds.

David walks back, and before he settles back into bed, he nudges Edi to tilt his face towards him to kiss him. It’s a simple lock of lips before David pulls away to climb in to lay beside him.

Edinson is about to get up when David stops him. “Wait. Come here,” he prompts Edi to rest his head on his shoulder. “Stay for a bit. Let’s talk.”

“Talk about what?” Edi asks, throwing David a confused look.

“Don’t you think maybe we should get to know each other?”

“Are we playing honesty hour now?” Edi raises his eyebrows, scratching his forearm. “I did tell you I have to be in court tomorrow.” He gives David an apologetic look as he sits up.

“Ask me anything. Any three things you want to know. I’ll do the same…and then you can go.” David grasps his shoulder, prompting him to recline once more beside him.

_I’ve been asking people questions all day in court, I’m not sure if I want to keep asking questions now_. Edinson thinks. He doesn’t say anything, though he lets David know he’s acquiesced to his request when he reclines beside him once more. “It’s 21:24. I have to be out by 22 hours on the dot.” He tilts his face to look at David. “So how are we doing this? Do I go first?”

“It doesn’t matter.” David shrugs and he turns his head to look at the ceiling for a few moments. “I guess so. You go ahead. Ask me something.”

Edinson looks up at the ceiling and runs his tongue over his lower lip—frustrated that he was drawing a blank on what to ask. It’s funny. He couldn’t think of a simple enough question. One that would allow David to say a lot about who he was but that wouldn’t be too personal.

“Why’d you come to Argentina? To _Buenos Aires_, of all places?” he finally asks.

David lets out a sigh and quickly masks it with a half-hearted smile.

“The adventure…of coming to an exciting city.” He answers, “But if I’m being really honest…I came here, because of a broken heart.”

Edinson turns to look at David. He wasn’t expecting him to get personal too soon and he searches for a few comforting words.

“Well, I’m sure whoever hurt you probably regrets it.” He tells David. Not even seconds later, Edi wants to take it back. What he just said sounded like an insincere condolent phrase people dole out without much thought or care just so that they can buy themselves out of the responsibility of truly listening to someone else’s pain.

“I don’t deserve him.” David responds, “He’s better off without me. I’m the one that lost out.” David turns his head to look at Edi directly in the eyes, “I came here for the change of scenery to avoid having everything about Minas Gerais remind me of Oscar. It’s been four months, and I’m still not over him.”

“You loved him?” Edi asks.

“Oscar was the first person I loved. He gave me so much freedom.” David shifts his body to the side, facing Edi, “He even told me, ‘David—I can give you a lot of freedom. You can sleep with whoever you want, as long as you tell me.’” he goes silent for a while and then adds, “I still don’t know why I just couldn’t tell him, when that was one of his conditions. That—and to not fuck his friends. Those were his two rules. I still don’t know why I felt this need to keep things from him. What ended things between us…was after I fucked one of his friends at a party. And I honestly think I did it on purpose to sabotage our relationship. I wanted him to find out who I really was. I wanted him to throw me out of his life for good.”

Edinson doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen enough relationships end in his lifetime from careless behavior. He thinks to himself how he hates careless people. People that couldn’t be bothered to take the time to cross every “t” and dot their “i’s” and were reckless—thinking only of themselves. Except he can’t exactly call David careless. David was intentional with his actions. He willfully destroyed something he cared about. Only people that hate themselves would do this.

“Thanks for listening.” David tells him after a few seconds tick by, “It felt good to confess this to someone.”

“Sure, of course.” Edi responds as he brings one arm behind his head.

“Alright—my turn.” David grins, shifting closer, “What’s your body count?”

“As in…how many have I slept with?” Edi asks to clarify. He sees David give him a subtle nod and he quickly looks to the side. He’s lost count of how many people he’s had sex with. The number had to be somewhere in the hundreds, and when he thinks of this, he’s taken aback with how profligate he has been with his body. Even before he picked up whoring.

“I couldn’t give you an exact number.” He answers David, “I’ve had…a lot of sex, with a lot of different people.” He huffs, “I just sort of fell into it after I broke up with my first boyfriend.”

“Tell me about him.” David nudges him. “Did you love him?”

“I don’t know if I want to talk about this.” Edi responds. He brings a hand over his face and massages his tired eyes. He never really told anyone about his first boyfriend. He doesn’t like talking much about his teenage years, but his resistance only ends up piquing David’s curiosity.

“I told you about Oscar.” David brings a hand over Edi’s chest, “I told you something about me…about my life that I’m not exactly proud of and that still hurts. Whatever you have to say…I promise I won’t judge you.” he assures him.

For a few seconds, they hold eye contact. Edi looks at David, who looks back at him with a certain openness. David the flirt, the goofball that hid his pain behind his humor had taken the backseat. This was a very different David beside him.

“My first boyfriend…was my high school Spanish teacher.” Edi finally breaks the silence, jumping straight to it, “He was older…married, and I was sixteen…just barely old enough to consent to sex. What we were doing was wrong—so wrong on so many levels, but when I was with him…it just felt right.” Edinson looks away and turns his head to look at the ceiling. “And yes…I loved him.”

“How did it end?” David asks. Edinson is surprised to hear how casual David sounds. As if what he had just told him didn’t disgust or shock him in any way. As he’s thinking about how to give David the simplest response, he can’t help but wonder where his father was during that time in his life. He had to be somewhere else, so completely detached from his life to be so unaware of how this relationship he had taken great pains to keep secret was consuming him to the point he started to slip up in his studies. There were so many signs—so many indicators that his father failed to pick up on. He pushes these thoughts out of his head.

“He took another lover. Someone younger.” Edi responds a few moments later, after he’s gathered his thoughts. “I had been his lover for a year…and I had one more year to go before I was eligible to graduate. I was stupid to think…that once I turned eighteen…we no longer had to keep our love a secret. For so long, I did whatever he wanted…to please him…always holding on to the hope that maybe he’d leave his wife and children for me one day, can you believe?” Edi turns to look at David. “I had some gall as a boy then. To think my happiness…my pleasure mattered more and that alone would be worth breaking up a family.”

“You were a boy—you said it yourself.” David assures him, “Young people do stupid things because they can’t see beyond the immediacy of things.” David begins to gently run his fingers over Edi’s chest. “So how did it all end?”

“When I found out he had just been using me…I just stopped seeing him, and I quickly tried to find someone else. We have this saying here—‘_Un clavo saca otro clavo_,’ I don’t know if there is a Portuguese equivalent. But basically, it carries the meaning that the only way to get over someone is to get under another.”

David lets out a soft laugh and withdraws his hand from Edi’s chest to comb his hair out of his face.

“Now that I think about it…part of the reason why I was such a slut in high school…wasn’t because I really liked having sex. In fact, I hated a lot of the sex I had back in my younger years. I was just fucking whoever because I wanted to put as many people between me and _him_. I wanted somehow…to make what we had…what I _felt_ for him completely meaningless. I thought it would be the only way it would no longer hurt when I’d think of him and what he meant to me.”

Silence hangs over the two of them after Edinson stops speaking. For a minute that seems to drag on for far too long, it’s just the faint sounds of their breathing and the muffled noise of traffic outside of David’s apartment windows.

“He took advantage of you.” David comments. “Did you not know?”

“I told him the exact thing the last time I saw him.” Edi turns his head to face David, “And do you know what he told me? He told me that I knew what I was doing. That I knew _exactly_ what I was getting myself into.”

Edinson’s chest feels tight and he feels his throat welling with emotion. He doesn’t think it over and he springs out of David’s bed and scrambles to pick up his clothes.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” He tells David as he steps into his underwear, “It’s almost time for me to head out anyway.” He adds quickly, taking note of the time.

David gets out of bed and picks up Edi’s shirt by the foot of the bed and hands it to him. “Get home safe.” He tells him before leans in to kiss Edi’s forehead.

Edinson says nothing in return. He quickly turns to deliver a chaste kiss over David’s mouth before he turns to focus on buttoning his shirt. He’s out the door as soon as he’s dressed, running his hand over his hair to smoothen his disheveled appearance as he runs down the stairs and steps out into the cold.

_Winter has finally come_. He thinks as he clutches the lapels of his coat to keep the biting wind out. He’s got a good ten blocks to walk before he gets to where his car had been parked, and he regrets choosing to wear such a light coat when he knew the temperatures would drop. He’s about halfway to his car when he passes by a church—_La Parroquia de Nuestra Señora del Perpetuo Socorro_. The Parish of Our Lady of Perpetual Help.

He’s walked by this church dozens of times, but something about the noble simplicity of its appearance, sandwiched between two dull grey buildings makes him stop. He hadn’t set foot into a church since he was a teenager. He recalled the last time he had ever been inside a church was to confess his sin of having slept with his Spanish teacher. A married man. As much as he had found pleasure in the encounter, it weighed on him heavily afterwards and he desperately wanted to tell someone—wanting more than nothing to unload himself of holding this shameful secret and be forgiven. The priest offered to absolve him of his sins, on the condition that he never again agreed to share any more encounters with his teacher—something Edi didn’t expect to hear. He wasn’t ready to give up the one person who looked at him like he mattered. It was then, that he realized he wasn’t truly sorry. He intended to continue seeing him. He left the confessional wordlessly—feeling worse than before he walked in. Not even days later, he slept with his teacher again—famished for his touch. For his sweet words. _For his love_. Just like that, he stopped going to church—deeming himself unworthy of God’s love and forgiveness. He had made his decision. He chose the thrill of illicit sex with a married man over God’s love—and that alone made him hate this part of him that couldn’t squelch his adulterous desire, abandoning what he knew was wrong in his heart.

By some impulse he can’t explain, he approaches the large wooden doors and yanks the handle to check to see if the church was open late at this time. He’s surprised to see that it is—and he decides to step inside. Even if it’s just for a few minutes to thaw his hands. He rubs them together and brings them to his mouth, blowing warm air into his palms as he walks further in, taking note of the large, dilapidated painting of the Virgin Mary, holding the infant Jesus in her arms, hung above the altar.

Edinson crosses himself and takes a seat in one of the back pews. He doesn’t feel worthy to sit up front. He had just come from a tryst and he hadn’t even showered. He feels filthy in too many ways to sit too close to God’s presence—and for the first time in his life, he understands why Adam would take the pain to sew a garment out of fig leaves to cover his naked body and hide among the bushes after eating from the forbidden fruit—the one act that displeased God and got him cast out of Eden. Edinson closes his eyes and inhales the warm air, infused with the scents of incense and beeswax candles. The smells bring him back to his childhood. To a time where his father hadn’t yet gotten lost to alcohol and other women and actually found time to take him and his older brother to church to light a votive candle by the side altars and pray.

“I’m sorry…for _everything_.” He whispers to empty space.

☼

_15 years earlier_

_Spring of 2004_

“Papá—I’m leaving.” Edi shouts as he starts to make his way out.

“Where are you off to, boy?” he hears his father shout from across the room.

“I told you, I’m going to my tutoring session—to prepare for my university entrance exam.” Edi stops by the door, turning the knob.

“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times. You’re not university material. I don’t know why you insist on this.” His father reproaches him, craning his neck to look at him from where he was sitting. “But hey—at least if you’re going to waste your time, you’ve got your nose in a book and not getting yourself into trouble like before.”

Edi slams the door behind him, and picks up his bike.

There was no use arguing with his father. He had always regarded him as a stupid boy. After his brief stint in prison, he had irrevocably fell out of his favor, unable to convince him of his innocence. Nothing could convince him of his goodness or his worth after that. Not his grades. Not the fact that he was given the highest honor for his outstanding performance in the earlier trimester.

His diligence, at least, won him favor with his Spanish teacher—who offered to tutor him to prepare him for his University entrance exams he would be eligible to take two years later. In the last months, they had gotten close—and it all started after he asked him to stay after class to discuss one of his essays.

“What amazes me about your writing is your remarkable precision and ability capture the essence of what lies beneath the texts we’ve read. You have a delicate, beautiful soul that is deeply sensitive. You pay attention the things very few people take the time to actually _notice_. You and I are so alike in this way.” His teacher told him once.

They were words that flattered him. Someone had taken the time to notice him. Someone, for the first time in a long time seemed to _understand_ him.

His teacher encouraged him to start reading at the University level to expand his vocabulary and to analyze more complex themes in literature. Among the books his teacher had lent him to read, he included a particularly erotic novel—one that he personally hailed a classic by Peruvian novelist Mario Vargas Llosa. Edi didn’t expect to read a book was laden with explicit descriptions of sex. It told the story of a married couple that had an open marriage, where nothing was sexually forbidden to them. The novel detailed their risqué adventures…until one of them—the wife—pushes the envelope, practically sending the marriage to ruin when she begins sleeping with her stepson.

Edi took great pains to hide this dirty book from his father and his older brother that had a habit of snooping through his stuff. He couldn’t help but wonder why his teacher, Mr. Sandoval, wanted him to gain from this provocative book. He figures he would find out later that afternoon. Sandoval had invited him once to share the _merienda_ with him, at a small café to discuss it with him, and this is where he was headed to, on his bike.

“What made this book so captivating…is that it raises many important questions pertaining to sexuality and culture. We, as a culture, assign meaning to what are acceptable and unacceptable expressions of sexuality. We moralize sex…when sex is a part of nature.”

“I didn’t like it.” Edi confesses reluctantly, cautious to not offend his teacher by expressing a different opinion. “I can’t imagine, let’s say my father’s new girlfriend suddenly making a move and telling me she wants to sleep with me—and actually doing it without feeling guilt. It just feels wrong. I don’t need anyone to tell me that it’s wrong.” Edi pauses briefly. “Last Sunday…I went to Mass, and the priest gave a homily on the natural law. He taught us that we have an innate knowing of what’s right from wrong. We can ignore this voice…but in our hearts we know when we’ve violated the law that God has written in our hearts.”

“You’re going to let a _priest_ tell you what to think? Don’t you have the capacity to reason for yourself?” Sandoval counters. “The church has been spreading all sorts of lies as a way to control sexuality. Something that God gave us in the first place to enjoy. They’ll never tell you that, even though it’s in the Bible. Instead, they will make you feel guilt for enjoying something that’s only natural. I don’t trust priests. They are the biggest hypocrites themselves—so I wouldn’t trust their counsel.”

“So then how do you explain jealousy? Or crimes of passion—where a lover kills their lover’s lover? If truly nothing should be forbidden…as far as having sex goes, then why do we as humans have these intense reactions when a lover strays?” Edi looks at his teacher earnestly.

“Have you heard of _compersion_? The feeling joy from knowing a lover was able to enjoy sexual pleasure with someone else?” Sandoval reaches across the table and places his hand over Edi’s forearm. “It’s the opposite of jealousy. It exists. It’s something that is truly possible to experience if you are able to shake free of the norms our society has imposed on us. Monogamy is a myth. My wife doesn’t know that I sleep with others. Better yet—she knows. She just doesn’t ask. She knows I love her at the end of the day…and that sex is just sex.”

Sandoval pays the bill and proposes to Edi to take a walk by the park nearby and then sit to watch the night sky.

“I could never get tired of looking at the sky.” Edi comments as his eyes trace a couple of constellations. “Especially at night. It’s beautiful.”

“You and I are very much alike.” Sandoval brushes the back of his hand on the side of Edi’s face. “I too enjoy contemplating the beauty of the skies.”

When he leans in to press a kiss much too close to his lips, Edi gasps and pulls away from his touch. He motions to get up from where he was sitting, but Sandoval grasps his arm.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Edi.” He offers immediately. Sensing that Edi no longer insists on leaving, he loosens his hold on his wrist. “But the heart wants what it wants. And you are very beautiful.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Edi finds the courage to raise his eyes and look at him.

“One day, you’ll understand this Edi. You’re too young now to understand…but one of the problems of being young is that you haven’t yet developed the eyes to _see_ yourself…or the emotions to _feel_ yourself in a way that’s _objective_.” Sandoval releases Edi’s wrist and brushes his hand alongside his arm.

“Why do I need adult eyes when there are mirrors? Mirrors don’t lie.” Edi scoffs.

“The mirror is the last thing you can trust, Edi. How much do you want to bet…that you don’t feel as beautiful or as smart as your friends?” Sandoval shifts closer, his eyes darting over Edi’s face, studying him carefully.

For a few moments Edi says nothing. His teacher had edged much too close to a truth. He hates his body. He hates his features. He felt there was nothing extraordinary about his dark eyes or his brown hair. Even his friend Martín, whom his father called a riffraff knucklehead, was much more clever and smarter than him despite coming from a poorer family. He felt so ordinary. So mediocre. Not just in his appearance, but in his intellect.

“It’s true.” He finally says.

“The truth is…you are the most beautiful of your friends, Edi.” Sandoval raises his hand, gently grasping Edi’s chin to tilt his face towards him. “I know you as well as I know myself. You and I? We have the same sensibility. We are two souls…who can meet and recognize each other…even in the dark.”

Moments later, Sandoval leans in to kiss him.

When it happens, Edi is not surprised. He had been feeling the tension between them from earlier—from when they had sat down by the café. He had never been kissed before. Not like this. He feels self-conscious about his inexperience, and for the next few beats, he tries to match the way his teacher’s mouth moves against his. A familiar, pleasurable warmth suddenly begins to expand in his stomach. He’s set ablaze in almost no time and he trembles. Shivering from the early spring chill, and his heart quivering from the thrill he feels of being desired.

Moments later, Edi lets his teacher know that he should be getting home. Sandoval tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and kisses his forehead.

“You mustn’t tell anyone about this.” Sandoval admonishes him. “You mustn’t tell anyone about _us_. No one will understand our love for what it is, so it’s best that we keep it a secret.”

“I promise.” Edi whispers.

When he gets home, he has trouble sleeping that night. He wonders what had he done to be as lucky as winning the love and affection of someone as admirable as his teacher.

☼

“Excuse me, sir?”

The voice pulls Edinson out of his contemplative state. He didn’t realize, but he had been sitting in the church for much longer than he had intended to. He had been mentally pouring out all of his pain and regrets from his youth before this God he had estranged. He raises his head and acknowledges the church sacristan standing beside him with a brisk head nod.

“We’re about to close in 10 minutes. We open again at 6 hours for the liturgy of the hours followed by morning mass.”

“Thanks, I’m leaving now.” Edinson responds. Without another word, he rises from his seat and makes his way to the door.

When he finally gets to his car and revs up his engine to warm it up, he wonders if it would be foolish of him to stop by this church again at another time and ask to speak to a priest. Someone whom he could talk to about the truth of who he was and ask for God’s forgiveness. It was about time he made his peace. He checks his phone and sees a text from David, asking him to text him once he got home safely.

He showers when he gets to his apartment. While he eats his dinner, he reviews his agenda for tomorrow. Paulo would be called up to the stand, and he needed to be ready to minimize the potential blow his testimony could deliver to any hope of securing even at least one Juror to stay on Leandro’s side.

That’s all he needs. Just one person on the Jury box to be convinced that the evidence against Leandro wasn’t sufficient for him to deserve the death penalty. For this, he would need to pray for a miracle—another reason for him to make his peace with God.


End file.
